Vengeance
by E.Helena
Summary: COMPLETE: CASE FILE 'Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time as aromatic wine it seemed...' Charlotte Brontë 1816–55 CHAPTER 7 RATED M.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Vengeance**

Author: E.Helena

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Dick Wolf, René Balcer and the actors who bring them to life. No harm intended, no money made.

Archive: Fanfiction - anywhere else, just ask

Feedback: Please! It's always welcome

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"_Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned."  
_  
**Charlotte Brontë** (1816–55), English novelist. _Jane Eyre,_ ch. 4 (1847).

Chapter 1 - **Vengeance**

Another date with Denise broken. Never mind that he wasn't supposed to see her until tomorrow morning. Being called to the scene of discovery of a murder victim at midnight on a Saturday pretty much guaranteed that he wouldn't make it for their Sunday brunch, and probably not the matinee performance of '_Rent'_ either. _Shit_! She was already considering calling it all off – he could feel it. This could very well be the final nail in the coffin.

The only information he'd been given over the phone was that a City Councilman and his wife had found a male murder victim as they cut through Central Park on their way home from Tavern on the Green. Approaching the taped-off area in the Park, Detective Bobby Goren saw a small cluster of police and CSU personnel milling about on the path, waiting for the generators and portable floodlights to be put in place before stepping all over the grassy crime scene. One person in particular caught his eye and he wondered if she had been with the victim, or if she was simply a curious spectator. Viewed from behind, he couldn't help but admire her petite, slender form draped in a black cocktail dress. A complicated series of clips swept her hair up off her neck, exposing a graceful line that extended down the expanse of pale skin and spine revealed by the vee at the back of her dress. The muscles of her well-formed calves were flexed atop the three-inch heels of the sandals she wore. It was a mildly cool evening and her hands rubbed her bare biceps in an attempt to generate some warmth.

"Hey, Rick," Goren greeted a CSU supervisor he recognized, all the while keeping his gaze on the chilled woman. At the sound of his voice, she turned and Goren started in surprise. _How could I not know it was her?_

His partner, Alex Eames, walked over to join him while he stood mutely apprizing her, pondering the tiny spark of interest he'd felt before realizing who she was. "Not a word, Goren," she warned. He must have looked as shocked as he felt. Bobby shook his head and held up his hands in surrender before she finally gave him a crooked smile of greeting. She stood beside him and he leaned down so only she would hear him. "It would have been a good word," he said in a low voice. Eames shivered and he automatically reached to remove his jacket for her, but she shook her head. "I'm fine."

He frowned but didn't force the issue. No longer able to ignore the obvious, he had to ask, "Hot date?"

"Not any more," she grumbled.

Bobby attributed the ribbon of pleasure that snaked through him to the old adage that, 'Misery loves company.' If he was going to have to cancel a date, at least he wasn't the only one.

"What do we have?" Goren forced his thoughts to the business at hand.

"I probably don't know any more than you do. Male victim, discovered by Councilman Rose and his wife." Eames was rubbing her arms again and this time Bobby didn't give her a chance to argue. She smiled her thanks when he draped his leather jacket over her shoulders and she pulled the lapels tight.

"Detectives." They heard one of the technicians call out moments before the world around them exploded with sound and light as the generators and floodlights kicked in, leaving them blinking in the sudden brightness.

Bobby was about to duck under the yellow tape when he heard his partner swear, "Dammit!" He looked back and saw her eyeing her shoes. One slender heel had apparently sunk into the soft ground and was now skimmed over with dirt. "These are new shoes," she complained angrily. Bobby had to smile. He was unused to Eames being so typically female about things like shoes. "Wait here," he told her. He walked over to one of the CSU techs and came back with a pair of the cloth-like booties they used to cover their shoes when necessary. "The grass is dry, just be careful where you step."

"Thanks," she said as she took the booties from his hand. "I'll watch for glass."

"I was thinking more about the dogs." He grinned at her look of disgust. Gripping his arm to maintain her balance, Alex slipped off first one shoe then the other before putting on the booties. When wearing heels, her head barely cleared his shoulder. In her stocking feet, Alex's ear would rest exactly over his heart if she were to lean against him. _Dangerous thought._

They carefully walked over to where the body lay, splayed out with his head tipped back and his arms and legs spread wide – nude except for his white briefs. There was no mistaking what the murderer intended for the world to see.

"Strangulation," Eames said it first.

Goren nodded then crouched next to the body. "But look at the marks." He turned the victim's head from one side to the other to reveal the angry welts and deep scoring on the flesh behind each ear. "These were caused by upward pressure. The killer would have to have been much taller – above him somehow."

"The victim was kneeling?"

"Maybe," Goren sat back on his heels. "Or maybe this is a hanging." He looked up and pointed toward the branches above them. "But not from this tree. There aren't any branches strong enough to hold him."

Alex swiveled around, scanning the ground surrounding the body. "I don't see any drag marks."

Bobby stood up and looked over the same stretch of ground. "And no tire tracks. Which means if he was hanged, he would have been carried here." He cocked his head and looked back at the body. "He weighs what? Maybe 220?" Eames nodded agreement. "Well…there would have been more than one assailant."

Spying Rick directing some of the technicians, Goren called him over. "Come daylight, you'll need to check all the trees in a…a hundred-yard radius for evidence of a hanging." Rick glanced uneasily at the body then back at Bobby before answering, "You got it."

Walking slowly around the body, Goren was considering the psychology behind the scene before him. "He's laid out here…exposed. On display…"

"Humiliation." Eames immediately caught on to what he was thinking.

"But why not go all the way?" He stopped pacing and frowned at her in question. "Why go to all this trouble then… leave him in his underwear?"

"Aversion to male genitalia?" Eames looked up at him and he nodded. _Good possibility._ "Lesbian?"

"Or a victim of sexual abuse," Bobby spoke softly. He made a small gesture with his chin and they each began to fan out in opposing directions, looking for evidence or anything out of the ordinary that might be relevant.

"Eames." He spotted it, about fifty feet away from the victim.

She walked over to where he was kneeling in the grass and considered the object in front of him. "It could be unrelated," she said of the two-inch square wooden toy block, the kind given to toddlers to teach them their numbers and the alphabet.

Goren spotted a CSU photographer and waved him over. "Take pictures of this, please." After a series of flashes, Goren picked up the toy and held it out for an evidence bag. Still crouched, he did a final scan of the surrounding area.

"Let's finish up here."

_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – **Vengeance**

_'Seven a.m. on a Sunday and I'm here.'_

As she stepped off the elevator on the eleventh floor, Alex's mind was protesting the late night, lack of sleep, loss of free time… Hell, if she were truly honest, it was more likely protesting the interruption of her date with Eric last night. Right about now she should be in her own bed with a cup of coffee and the New York Times, or in his bed with more interesting activities. At least she assumed they'd be interesting, she didn't know yet.

Rounding the corner, she really wasn't surprised to see Bobby already at his desk, hunched over some file folder or other. He looked up and smiled a greeting when she opened her desk drawer to toss her purse inside.

"How do you always do that?" she asked.

"Um…do what?"

"Get here before me."

"Oh…I didn't go home," he answered before turning his attention back to the folder on his desk.

"You didn't get any sleep?" Bobby shook his head and Alex sighed. "One of these days, you're just going to collapse."

"I'll sleep tonight. I'm fine."

"If they partner me with Snyder when you do collapse, I guarantee you that you won't be fine." He didn't lift his head, but Alex saw him smile. "What have you been doing here?"

Bobby looked back up at her. "I've been waiting to see if they can match his thumb prints to DMV, but I haven't heard yet."

"What's that you have there?" she gestured with her chin at the file folder.

"I conned one of the CSU photographers to come in and print some of the digital photos of the crime scene."

"Lucy," Alex smirked.

"Yeah…well…don't get any ideas," he waved off her suspicions. "It's more likely she'd do special favors for you."

"Really? Huh." She hadn't realized that about Lucy. Not that Alex's interests went in that direction, but if they ever did, Lucy just might be her type – she was cute.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" Bobby interrupted her fanciful musings of an alternative lifestyle. _Sorry Lucy, I enjoy men too much._

"Yeah, thanks." One of the plusses of being partnered with the same person for more than three years was that he knew how she took her coffee. Bobby got it perfect every time.

As he headed toward the break room, Alex got up, walked around to his desk, and sat down to look at the crime scene photos. When she opened the file, the first photo on top was a picture of her – full-length, still in her heels and sans Bobby's leather jacket. _Nice picture of me, but what the hell's it doing in here?_

Bobby came up behind her with their coffees. Alex picked up the photo, flashed it at him, and gave him a pointed look.

"What did I tell you about Lucy?"

The corner of her mouth twitched before she totally suppressed the smile that wanted to form. "Well…this doesn't belong in with the crime scene photos."

He set down one of the coffees and gripped the edge of the photo. "You're right." Bobby tugged, but she didn't immediately release it. Their eyes met and Alex was surprised to see a look of determination in his. She let go and Bobby just stood there, coffee in one hand and photo in the other. Alex shrugged, got up from his chair, and walked back around to her own desk. Handing her the coffee he held, Bobby laid the photo upside down on top of his binder. Sometimes she had to agree with everyone else and just admit that Bobby can be weird.

Alex flipped the page on her desktop calendar, saw it was Sunday the thirteenth, and for some reason it triggered her memory. "Weren't you supposed to see Denise today?"

"Yeah," Bobby took a sip of his coffee then set the cup down. "Thanks for reminding me…I have to call her to cancel."

He looked like he was dreading the call. Alex knew he'd had to cancel four dates in the past few weeks, and she figured he was probably worried how Denise was going to react. "Bobby," she leaned forward on her desk and waited until he met her eye. "Denise really likes you. Don't be so worried."

The look of dread gave way to confusion. "You've been talking to Denise?"

"More like she's been talking to me. I think she's trying to get me to reveal all your secrets." And now the confusion turned to something more akin to panic. Alex wondered what the hell he thought was so horrible about her talking with Denise. Judging by his expression, it must be one of his worst nightmares. "Don't worry…I thought it'd be fun to watch her figure you out on her own." There was a flash of relief before she once again saw dread settle into his eyes. Alex took pity on him and decided to give him an out. "Look…she'll be happy if you just offer her an alternative. Eric and I made plans to go to dinner tonight to make up for last night. Why don't you join us?"

Bobby looked a little skeptical. "I don't want to barge in on your date."

"You're not 'barging in.' I'm inviting you. Eric said he knows a great place for Indian food, I know you like curry," Alex glanced up as an assistant from the lab approached her desk with a file. Opening it, she saw the DMV record for Anthony Pirelli – last night's victim. "We've got a name and address," she announced.

"Let's go," Bobby grabbed his binder, but not before slipping the photo inside. _Weird_.

"Wait. Call Denise first. I'll give you the information to meet us at the restaurant at 7:00."

_TBC…_

A/N – I promise, there is a whole case file to come, I just wanted to have a little fun with them first. And I want to give credit to raz0r.girl and her story "His Watson" for a bit of comical inspiration. If you've read the story, you know what I mean. If you haven't, go find it – it's great!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – **Vengeance**

It was always an eerie feeling to walk into a murder victim's home. Notes posted on a refrigerator. Unpaid bills stacked on a desk next to a calculator. Dirty clothes bagged up and ready for the laundry. Everywhere there were indications that the occupant fully expected to return.

The landlord had been visibly upset to hear about Anthony Pirelli, on the verge of tears as he opened the apartment door for them. _'Not Tony! Such a nice man…always helping Mrs. Greenfeld with her packages…'_

Bobby was looking through papers and yesterday's mail in the living room while Alex sorted through things in the bedroom, searching for any evidence that would give them a direction for their investigation.

"Looks like he went to Lehigh University," she called from the bedroom. Alex walked out displaying a Lehigh sweatshirt just as Bobby picked up a framed photo off the desktop. He turned it around for her to see the three smiling men in the photo, posed so the football stadium scoreboard behind them showed 'Lehigh 37, Lafayette 30.'

He looked around at the walls of the room. "I don't see a…diploma hanging."

"Not everyone displays them," she commented as she walked over and took the photo from him to get a closer look.

"He may not have graduated. Lehigh's a pretty prominent school…you'd think he'd want to display a diploma."

Alex shrugged before placing the photo back on the desk. "According to his DMV record, he's thirty-four. Unless he got a late start, he would have graduated several years ago. Maybe he doesn't care anymore." Bobby still looked unsatisfied. "Does it matter?" she asked.

"Well…maybe he wasn't even a student. Maybe Lehigh is a… a hometown loyalty."

"I'll call it in," she agreed. "See if they can find family." She walked to the kitchenette area off the main room and opened the refrigerator door. Typical store of bachelor food and beverage.

"I, uh… already looked through the kitchen."

"Other than a box of condoms, there wasn't much else of interest in the bedroom," she swung the door closed and headed back to the living area. "You find anything out here?"

"Pay stubs from what could be a small law or accounting firm. See? LLC," Bobby pointed to the company name. "Limited Liability Corporation. Those are the two business types that most frequently incorporate that way."

"Did you find a wallet?"

"No… but, uh," he picked up some additional pages from the desk. "Statements from two different credit cards. We can monitor the activity… see if they turn up somewhere."

Alex looked around. "He kept a fairly tidy apartment," she mused.

"Yeah…"

Almost simultaneously, their cell phones chirped with text messages: CSU found what they believed to be the hanging tree.

She looked at him for his preference, already knowing what he would want to do first. "The Captain is waiting for an update."

"I'll call… tell him we're going to the Park first."

Alex thought it likely that Deakins was already unhappy about being called in on a Sunday. She sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to call and ask him to wait. As she headed toward the front door, Bobby followed. "CSU can box up the contents of his desk. The rest we'll leave for his family."

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"They certainly found a secluded spot," Alex called up to where Bobby was perched atop a ladder, examining the bark on a thick tree branch that appeared recently damaged from a heavy rope.

Bobby pulled out his switchblade. Using the tip, he lifted fibers embedded in the bark and poked at the raw wound exposed where the rope had cut into the wood. "The sap is still wet." He looked down at her. "This… damage. The fibers… all lay in this direction," Bobby gestured with his knife, "from the rope… sliding along the branch." He pocketed his knife and stepped back down the ladder. "Pirelli was hauled up… not dropped from some type of step or platform."

"That would have taken a lot of strength," she observed and Bobby nodded agreement. "Confirms what you said about more than one assailant."

"Rick," Bobby called over the CSU supervisor. "Any idea how many people were here?" he asked as he gestured around at the marker flags indicating where footprints needed to be cast into molds.

Rick smiled a greeting at Alex. "It's hard to say," he answered Bobby while looking at her. She always thought he was a nice-looking guy, with questionable self-control. He was married, but from the rumors she heard, that didn't seem to put a crimp in his social life. "The ground was dry. We've only found a few imprints in the dirt, nothing in the grass. And nothing directly under the branch."

Bobby took a step sideways to stand in Rick's field of vision. "But if you had to guess?"

Alex saw irritation flash in Rick's eyes, but she couldn't tell if it was due to Bobby's persistent question or because he had effectively blocked his visual admiration of her. When Bobby wanted someone's attention, he usually got it, one way or another.

"More than three, less than six." Rick gave Bobby a curt answer then looked back at Alex. "I'll call you later when we know more."

Bobby placed his hand on Rick's shoulder in a pseudo-friendly grip. "You do that. Thanks, man." Rick's eyes darted from Bobby to Alex and back again before he nodded and walked off.

"What was all that macho posturing about?" Alex asked.

"Um… what do you mean?" he frowned at her.

She studied him for a few moments then decided it wasn't worth pursuing. "Never mind," she sighed before turning away from him and heading back toward the SUV.

_TBC…_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – **Vengeance**

By the time 5:00 rolled around, both Goren and Eames were more than ready to get away from the office and head out for a couple of drinks. The remainder of their day had been spent in a flurry of activity and information – both gaining and sharing.

First came Deakins' update. Although he wasn't nearly as irritable as Bobby knew Eames had feared, the meeting lacked his usual enthusiasm and sharp-tongued witticisms. _'If it weren't for the involvement of a City Councilman, I'd turn this over to Homicide.'_

After that, the ME called to say that she had some preliminary information for them, so they headed down to the morgue. Rodgers confirmed the cause of death as hanging. She'd found fibers embedded in his skin and sent them off to CSU for comparison with fibers from the tree. And with the almost wicked sense of drama that was typical of Rodgers, she saved the most interesting bit of information for last. Although a full tox screen had yet to be completed, initial tests showed the victim had been given Rohypnol.

"That explains why there was no evidence of a struggle," Bobby commented while privately thinking that Rodgers would probably make a hell of a stage performer.

"Mmmm…" Eames hummed agreement. "Hopefully he was still under the influence when he was murdered."

Pirelli's family was found in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Local police there had the dreaded task of knocking on the front door and confirming they were indeed his parents, before informing them of their son's death. Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli would be traveling to New York the next day to identify the body. Sometime after that, Goren and Eames would schedule time with them for an interview.

It wasn't until around 4:00 that Rick finally called Bobby with some information_. 'It looks like we have six different sets of footprints, although there's no guarantee they were all there for the hanging.' _Rick also told him that a pool of vomit had been found nearby in the undergrowth. _'Someone obviously didn't have the stomach for it.'_ Samples were being tested – they should have results of the contents tomorrow.

By 6:00, Bobby had showered, changed into jeans and a dove gray sweater, and was pulling his car out of the garage near his apartment on his way to pick up Denise. He was beginning to regret agreeing to join Eames and her date for dinner. Bobby had met Eric once before and wasn't too impressed. Although he had to give the guy credit – Eames was hanging on to him longer than Bobby thought she would. The possible reasons behind that weren't anything he wanted to spend too much time considering.

When Denise opened her apartment door to him, she was beaming. She'd obviously forgiven him and was excited about a double-date with Alex. Without hesitation, she reached up and pulled him down for a lingering kiss full of promises of things to come.

"Mmm…" he hummed against her lips. "Maybe I should cancel our plans more often."

"Don't even threaten it," she murmured.

Bobby pulled away, with his arms loosely draped around her waist. "I really am sorry about our plans for today."

"That's okay," Denise reached up and ran her fingertip over his bottom lip. "You can make it up to me later." If nothing else, Bobby would have to thank Eames for helping salvage his relationship with Denise.

He had some trouble finding parking near the restaurant and finally turned into a garage several blocks away. When they walked in just five minutes late, he immediately spotted Eames already seated at a square table nicely located near an open-hearth fireplace. Bobby returned her wave then placed his hand at Denise's waist to escort her in.

"Bobby! Good to see you again," Eric stood up to shake hands with him while Eames and Denise were saying their hellos.

"Yeah, you too," Bobby reached out to return the greeting and smiled at Eames.

"I'm glad we could finally get together," Eric placed a hand affectionately on Eames' shoulder. "I've been asking Alex for weeks to plan something."

Bobby raised an eyebrow and shifted his gaze to Eames, but she refused to meet his eye. "Well… you know how it is… busy schedules." He placed his hand on Denise's arm to get her attention. "Denise Stone, this is Eric…"

"Geddes," he prompted.

"Right," Bobby smiled self-consciously and wondered why the hell he had such a hard time remembering the guy's name.

Greetings and introductions over, he took the seat directly to Eames' left, putting Denise between him and Eric. They ordered drinks, made some polite small talk, and settled in to study their menus, occasionally commenting on various entrée selections.

In sharp contrast to the partner he'd parted ways with just two hours ago, Eames looked relaxed and happy. She wore fashionably-faded jeans and a very feminine, form-fitting blouse. Deep burgundy with long sleeves, it had matching lace trim at the cuffs and along the low-cut neckline – enough lace to cover but still hint at the cleavage beneath. _'When did I start noticing Eames' cleavage?'_

"Alex, thank you for inviting us." Thankfully, Denise broke in on his distraction. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Me too," Eames smiled back at her. "It's nice to spend time with friends outside of work." She glanced over at him and, if Bobby wasn't mistaken, Eames actually looked a little shy. It could have been from the heat or glow of the fireplace, but she had an attractive rosy flush to her cheeks.

"Eric." Deciding he might as well be sociable, Bobby turned his attention from Alex to the other man. "Have you eaten here before?"

"Yeah, several times," he replied and Bobby wondered if he was imagining Eric's look of suspicion.

"Anything you can recommend?"

And, of course, he had an opinion. Although, to be fair, Bobby did ask. But something about the guy just struck him wrong. Once again, he had to wonder about Eames' choice of men. He hadn't met one yet that he thought deserved her.

It was pretty much left to Denise and Eames (_'Alex'_ as Denise tried to correct him) to carry any real conversation for the evening. Bobby and Eric exchanged enough pleasantries to confirm that, other than knowing Alex, they really had nothing in common. But Bobby's sense of discomfort came from more than that. He seemed more aware of Alex than Denise, and couldn't help but notice the smiles she gave Eric or her laughter at even his worst jokes. Bobby couldn't figure out if she really liked him or if there was some other reason she was trying too hard.

A more confusing nuance was added when, at one point, he felt Alex's knee touch against his under the table. Bobby shifted his position to give her more room. A few minutes later, he again felt her warm pressure on his knee. Glancing over at her, he thought he saw a mischievous sparkle in her eye, even though she wouldn't look directly at him. This time, figuring she was just trying to tease him, he stubbornly refused to move. Apparently, Alex could be just as stubborn in a game of 'chicken.' Their knees remained pressed intimately against each other and somewhere in the back of his mind, Bobby questioned if the quiet pleasure he felt could really be written off as stubbornness. They both took advantage of the contact for an occasional nudge to punctuate some comment or other, sometimes accompanied by a conspiratorial smile.

After dinner, Alex and Denise excused themselves for the requisite joint trip to the ladies' room – a queer female habit that men will never understand. The space under the table felt suddenly cold and, for a ridiculous moment, Bobby wondered if it was possible for a knee to miss someone.

The waiter came to clear the table and Eric turned to Bobby. "Another drink?"

"No," Bobby shook his head. "I'm driving. But, I'll have coffee."

"And since we took a cab from my place," Eric smiled, "I'll have a cognac." He looked up at the waiter. "She'll have a gin and tonic," he gestured to Alex's seat.

"Lemon instead of lime," Bobby prompted, earning him a sharp look from Eric. Putting on his best poker face, he tried to hide just how satisfied he was to 'one up' the guy. _I'll bet he hasn't even bothered to remember how she takes her coffee._

As Bobby was ordering another glass of pinot noir for Denise, his cell phone vibrated against his hip. Flipping it open, he swore under his breath when he recognized the number displayed. "Goren," he answered then listened as Dispatch informed him that another body had been discovered bearing evidence of a hanging. This time it was found at the other end of the Park – north of the Reservoir, near the East Meadow.

He looked across the restaurant to the ladies' room and saw Eames walking toward him, cell phone to her ear and a look of determination in her eyes. Denise was trailing after her.

"Don't tell me," he heard Eric mutter. Bobby glanced at him and saw a spark of anger flash in his eyes. He figured he could probably expect no less from Denise.

Eames and Bobby flipped their phones closed at the same time as she stood next to the table. "Eric…" she seemed to stumble over an apology.

"Go on," he grumbled, but when he looked at her, he sighed and clasped her hand. "Call me later, okay?" She nodded then leaned over to give him a kiss good-bye.

Bobby stood up to try and make his excuses to Denise.

_TBC…_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – **Vengeance**

Bobby threw down more than enough cash to cover their share of the bill, and discreetly handed Denise cab fare before threading his hand into her hair to kiss her good-bye. His only hope was that his kiss conveyed how much he regretted leaving her and abandoning an evening that had started with so much promise.

What bothered him most as he drove to the crime scene was that Denise had been disappointed, not angry. Anger he could have accepted. Anger he could tuck away to be dealt with later. Disappointment… left him feeling like a failure. If he were in the mood to analyze it, he'd realize that the resentment he now directed toward Eames was compensation. At that moment, he needed someone to blame and she was closest. But he wasn't in the mood to analyze. Instead, he took advantage of the portable lights and siren to goose the gas pedal and abruptly swerve to the next lane as he passed a line of taxis. To Eames' credit, she held on to the door handle and said nothing.

The portable lighting and CSU photographers were already working at the scene when he and Eames approached the top of the grassy slope. There they witnessed an almost exact replica of last night's victim – young man, in his boxers, arms and legs spread wide in an act of display. The halogens cast an eerie, unnatural light that grotesquely emphasized the evidence of a hanging.

Whatever bitter feelings had been plaguing Bobby, faded upon seeing their latest victim. This was no place for self-pity. A young man lay here with his life violently taken from him. Any personal problems Bobby may have conjured were now firmly relegated to their proper perspective.

As the night supervisor, Rick was again directing CSU activities. He came over as soon as he saw them, smiled a greeting at Eames then quickly turned his attention to Bobby. "There's something I knew you'd want to see."

They followed him to a spot about thirty feet away from the victim. There on the ground lay a small rag doll. Bobby pulled his flashlight from his pocket and they all crouched down for a closer look. About six inches long, the doll's form was made completely of cloth. The facial features were embroidered and yellow yarn was used for hair, braided into two pigtails. It wore a pink gingham dress with tiny, white socks on its feet.

With confirmation that last night's discovery of the toy block was no coincidence, Eames looked at Bobby and her eyes held a spark of anger. It was now a real possibility that these murders had something to do with child molestation, and that always awoke a passion in her.

"You found… no record on Anthony Pirelli of anything having to do with children?" Bobby asked.

Eames shook her head. "I checked here and Pennsylvania. I'll expand the search tomorrow. Maybe there's a sealed juvy record somewhere."

"We've sealed off that grove of trees over there," Rick pointed to his right. "It's the closest."

By the time they finished scouring the crime scene and Bobby completed his examination of the victim, it was well after midnight. As they headed back down the slope toward Bobby's car, he couldn't help but notice how tired Eames looked. "Want me to drive you home or to Eric's?" he asked.

"Eric's," she yawned. "My car is there."

"Can you get in? Or do you need to call first to wake him?"

"I'm not staying there," she protested. "We're not…" Eames stumbled over her choice of words. She didn't need to finish that statement for him to figure out that whatever their relationship, they weren't at the point of intimacy. "I didn't plan to spend the night."

For some reason, his opinion of her relationship with Eric was suddenly a little less dire. "You're in no condition to drive home," he pointed out.

"I'm fine, Bobby."

"No you're not. You'll fall asleep before you're halfway there," Bobby stubbornly argued. "Why don't you just stay at my place?" Eames looked at him with wide eyes, apparently surprised by his offer. "I'll let you have the bed…"

"Bobby…" she was shaking her head.

He stopped walking and waited for her to do the same. "Look… you've got two choices here," he continued when she finally faced him. "Either I can drive you home, or you can stay at my place."

In her eyes, Bobby saw the moment she relented. "I'll stay at your place under one condition," she stated firmly.

"Yes… I have Starbuck's coffee."

Eames gave him a tired smile. "I'll stay at your place under two conditions. You have Starbuck's coffee… and I get the couch." She cut him off before he could even begin his protest. "I'm not going to kick you out of your bed."

Bobby considered arguing, but he recognized that stubborn expression. "Fine," he waved dismissively. "Don't complain to me if your back hurts in the morning."

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Bobby gave her a tee-shirt and a new toothbrush he hadn't yet opened_. 'There are clean towels in the cabinet under the sink.'_ While Eames did whatever in the bathroom, he dug out a pillow and two blankets from the closet then went about tucking a sheet over the couch cushions. When he heard her walk out into the living room, he looked up and was surprised by the twist he felt in his chest. That attractive flush was back in her cheeks and Eames once again looked shy. The tee-shirt he'd given her ended just a couple of inches above her knees. Bobby was taken aback by how vulnerable and youthful she looked.

"I, uh… I have two blankets," he straightened and gestured toward the couch. "Will that be enough?"

"Great," Eames nodded and gave him a closed-mouth smile. She took one step toward the couch, and he took one step away. Their eyes met and held. A few moments later, Bobby realized he was holding his breath.

"Well, I'll um… I'll see you in the morning," he said softly as he stepped around her to head toward the bathroom.

"Good night, Bobby," she murmured.

Several minutes later he stepped out of the bathroom and turned left instead of right, intending to say 'good night' one more time. But Eames was already conked out. Bobby leaned against the corner where the hall met the living room and watched her. She had rolled over onto her back with one leg draped on top of the blanket. Her hair tossed carelessly over her eyes and across the pillow. Although she wasn't exactly snoring, her mouth was open and he could hear the heavy breathing of someone deep in sleep. Bobby purposely slowed his breaths to match her rhythm, and he felt himself relax.

The nails on her bare foot were painted a deep burgundy, almost the exact shade of the blouse she wore earlier. Drawn by the color, he studied her foot and realized the nails weren't just painted, they were 'manicured.' As a matter of fact, her entire foot looked soft and smooth, and Bobby decided that she must splurge on pedicures. In his experience, women who paid that much attention to their feet usually did it for a reason. Somewhere on that foot there was a sensitive spot that would probably be a good place to start if someone wanted to seduce her. Bobby smiled at the possibilities. In his mind's eye, he pictured tracing her foot, stopping only when her gasp betrayed his success. Caressed with his fingers, she'd close her eyes and sigh her pleas for more. When his lips and tongue tasted that sweet spot…

Sucking in a sharp breath, Bobby suddenly straightened from the wall as he felt the first stirrings of arousal. _What the hell? _Turning his mind and body away from the woman sleeping on his couch, he quickly headed toward the safety of a closed door and his own bed. Lying there with his hands tucked behind his head, Bobby stared at the ceiling and wondered when his desire to protect his partner had started changing to feelings of possession. And at what point did friendly affection begin to hint of something else?

Pushing those thoughts aside, he decided the problem was that he was spending more time with her than any other woman in his life. If Denise was still talking to him after tonight, he thought they should plan a weekend trip, or at least a one-night getaway. A night of making love to Denise was just what he needed to stop having these thoughts about Alex.

Decision made, Bobby rolled onto his side, punched his pillow once, then settled in and immediately fell asleep.

-------------------------------

"Eames."

Bobby whispered in her ear and Alex shivered as his warm lips ghosted across her temple.

"Eames."

He kissed her name against her neck. She sensed moist breath sliding sensuously over her skin and moaned softly. "Bobby," she whispered. Slowly Alex opened her eyes to the horrifying sight of the entire squad room watching them, Deakins front and center.

"Wake up, Eames."

Alex's sleep-addled mind recognized the theme of this dream, if not the exact content. Struggling to wakefulness, but refusing to open her eyes, she groaned, "It better be later than 7:00."

"It's 7:10."

She groaned again and pulled the blanket closer against her neck. "It better be later than 8:00," she mumbled. Bobby had the nerve to chuckle.

Eyes still closed, a ray of hope pierced her muddled senses as she smelled an invigorating, life-giving aroma.

"I've got coffee," he coaxed.

Alex eased her eyes open. Bobby was sitting on the coffee table – wide awake, freshly-showered and smartly-dressed in suit and tie. And, God bless him, he was holding a mug of coffee for her.

"You're ready early," she pulled herself to a sitting position and reached for the coffee.

"Yeah. I've been up for awhile. I thought I'd let you sleep," he explained. He was eyeing her and seemed to hesitate before reaching out to smooth her hair on one side. _Great, it was probably sticking straight up._ Feeling self-conscious, Alex reached up to finish tucking her hair behind her ear. She took a sip of coffee, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the back of the couch.

"Are you always this sluggish in the morning?"

"Bite me, Goren," she grumbled. Bobby laughed as he got up and headed back out to the kitchen. "Thanks for the coffee," she called after him.

_TBC…_

A/N – In my (elfluvr's) story "Chanel No. 5," Bobby implied something to Alex about feet. This is how he knew :-)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – **Vengeance**

Eames finished her coffee while getting dressed, grabbed a second cup for the road, and they were walking out Bobby's door by 7:30 so he could drop her off at her car. While she headed home to shower and change, he went into the office to make a few phone calls before commandeering a conference room and moving their files in there. Since they would use this room to meet with Pirelli's parents, he held off posting anything on the bulletin board. Instead, he spread photos across the table and sat down with his binder to analyze and make notes while he waited for his partner.

He was surprised to see Eames walking in a little before 9:30, professionally dressed in a pantsuit and sensible shoes. The memory of the burgundy-colored toenails inside her sensible shoes skittered into his mind before he could stop it, immediately followed by those moments of fantasy he'd unwisely allowed himself. His mind's ear once again imagined her gasp and sighs, before he determinedly forced his eyes from his partner and back to the notes in his binder.

Fortunately for him, Deakins had apparently been waiting for Eames' arrival and he trailed behind her into the conference room. "Tough weekend, huh?" Deakins looked sympathetically at her and she nodded agreement. He turned his attention to Bobby. "Any ID on the second victim?"

"Not yet," he answered from his seat at the table.

"Two hangings in two nights," Deakins settled a hip against the edge of the table and looked down at the collage of photos. "What do you make of it?"

"Well… it's a…. a ritual. Maybe even a cleansing," Bobby's gaze flicked back and forth between the captain and his partner. "The killers don't mutilate the bodies. And they're not trying to hide their actions. The public placement… the need to… display what they've done…" he picked up a photo of each of the victims as they were found at the scene and placed them facing Deakins and Eames. "They don't think they're doing anything wrong." Bobby got up from his chair and started to pace. "These hangings… they're not murders. They're executions. Punishment for past crimes… real or perceived."

"And you think those past crimes are child molestation?" Deakins frowned.

"Someone is trying to tell us something with the toys," Bobby stopped his pacing and stood next to Eames. "This has to do with children. A history of molestation seems obvious, but we need to know more about these victims," he reached around her and trailed his fingers over the photos. "We're scheduled to meet with Pirelli's boss at the accounting firm at 11:00," he looked down at Eames as he informed her of this addition to their schedule.

"His parents are supposed to be at the morgue by 3:00," Deakins said solemnly before straightening from his perch and heading toward his office. "Officers will bring them here after that."

"We'll be here, Captain" Eames said softly.

Deakins stopped at the conference room door and turned to them with a parting comment. "I'll want an update after you meet with them."

Bobby circled around the table back to his seat while Eames remained standing, gazing at the photos. Her eyes held a thoughtful, far-away haze and Bobby wondered what she was seeing in the images before her.

"Someone is seeking justice," she murmured.

Her soft statement surprised him. "This isn't justice… it's vengeance," he corrected her. Annoyance flashed across her features and her lips pursed into a thin line. "These… people are vigilantes, Eames. You can't tell me you're okay with that."

"I'm not saying I condone it," she snapped. Her eyes met his and he was shocked by the anger he saw there. Shaking her head, Eames looked away. Trying to guess what raw nerve he'd hit, Bobby cocked his head to study her. Alex's jaw was clenched, her spine rigid as she stood silently staring at the images on the table. Finally, she reached out to gently touch a photo of the rag doll. "I understand it," she said softly.

The first tendrils of something cold and sickening coiled inside, sliding along the sinuous path her words implied. "Eames?" She met his gaze, and as he watched her anger fade to memories, the coil tightened in his chest. Alex walked over to close the conference room door before sitting in the chair across from him. One deep, shaking breath escaped her while Bobby found he could barely breathe.

"Growing up, my dad's best friend was always at our house, or we were at his," Alex quietly spoke to her hands, focused on rubbing her thumb back and forth over the callus on her trigger finger. "Uncle Danny. He was like family… and I adored him." Firmly lacing her fingers, Alex stilled her hands on top of the table and resolutely looked up at Bobby. "He stayed with us kids the night my parents went out to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. I was twelve." Her voice was clear and calm, as if reciting the events of that evening instead of remembering them. "My older brother had decided to sleep over at a friend's house that night. So after my sister and kid brother went to bed, it was just Uncle Danny and me – sitting up together, eating popcorn and watching a movie." Alex gave him a rueful smile that quickly wavered into uncertainty. Doubt glimmered at the corner of her eyes.

"Eames…" his voice was husky and Bobby had to clear his throat before trying to go on. He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to say anything… he understood.

But now that she'd started, Alex seemed determined. "I really don't remember how it started. One minute we were sitting next to each other on the couch watching '_Notorious_,' the next… his hand was under my sweater."

Bobby jumped up out of his chair, driven by nervous energy and a growing urge to hit something. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced a few steps, trying to swallow an anxiety that shouldn't be his. An overwhelming need to be close to her drove him to the other side of the table. The chair next to hers scraped along the floor before he settled himself in the seat. Inching closer, Bobby leaned in but didn't touch her. Eames looked into his eyes and something she saw there seemed to ease her fears, allowing her to relax into their more intimate confines.

"I froze and just… sat there … while he…" she gave a small shrug. Bobby's nodded understanding encouraged her to continue. "At one point he pinched me and the pain… That's when I finally tried to get away. But… he pulled me back down and held me there. When I tried to scream he started… kissing me…" She stopped and searched his eyes. He didn't know what she sought, but once she seemed satisfied she continued in a hushed voice. "I could taste whiskey on his breath." Alex again looked to where her thumb was nervously rubbing her finger. "His hand… moved under my jean skirt and his fingers…" her words faltered and he saw her eyes close. "I was so scared," she whispered. "I couldn't get him off of me."

Swallowing thickly, Bobby reached out to cover her hands tightly with one of his own. When she continued, Alex's voice was soft but steady. "He pulled his hand away from me… to go for his zipper… but then we heard my dad's car outside. My mom had gotten sick and they had to come home early." She raised her eyes to meet his. "He let go and I ran upstairs," Alex's chin tipped defiantly. "Nothing ever happened again."

Bobby released the breath he'd been holding and waited a few heartbeats before responding. "Your dad took care of him," he said with soft confidence.

She shook her head. "I've never told anyone. I just made sure he was never alone with me or my sister."

Anger at this unknown man threatened to choke him and must have shone in his eyes. Alex frowned at him. "I was lucky, Bobby. My parents came home and I got lucky. I've always wondered how many others weren't so lucky."

Not sure why he felt the need to ask, Bobby couldn't stop himself. "Where is he now?" When she didn't respond right away, he thought for a moment she wasn't going to answer. _She's probably worried I'll go looking for the sonofabitch._

"He was killed in a car accident three years later. Drunk driving." Alex slid her chair away from the table then stood and walked over to the windows where she could look out into the squad room. "There were times in those three years when I could have wished him dead… the reality wasn't as satisfying as I'd imagined." She turned back to face him and she was once again the Eames he knew – confident, sure of herself and ready to argue.

"So you see… I'm not 'okay' with vigilantism. But I understand what drives it."

_TBC…_


	7. Chapter 7

**RATING CHANGED TO M – Might just be a "high T" but just to be safe…**

**NOT CENTRAL TO THE STORY so you can safely skip this and go on to chapter 8.**

Chapter 7 - **Vengeance**

Detective Alexandra Eames was barely five three, with a slight build and petite frame that belied all her inner strengths. At the age of twelve, she must have been just a pixie of a girl. The thought that a man whom she loved and trusted would take advantage of her for his own satisfaction, left Goren with a sour stomach and a growing anger he struggled to bite back.

His mood darkened as the day wore on, leaving him restless and out of sorts. Eames took the lead in questioning both the employer and Pirelli's parents. Goren just couldn't seem to stay focused on the here and now as long as her words were re-playing on a continuous loop inside his head. Images of a young Alex fighting against her attacker became more insistent as the day dragged on.

He needed to forget, if only for a short time. He needed to focus this clawing energy on something that would distract his thoughts from Eames and the irrational feeling that somehow he had failed to protect her. He needed release.

When he showed up at her door unannounced, she seemed surprised but not displeased. When without a word he tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her tight against his body so she could feel his intent, her accepting mouth opened beneath his. Desperate to feel something other than sickness and rage, he welcomed the tug of her sucking his tongue and groaned down her throat. Stepping into Denise's apartment, he kicked the door closed behind them while backing her toward the bedroom.

Once there, he reined himself in, controlling the urge to quickly strip her and lose himself in his own need. As a young man, Bobby had given in to those urges – seeking physical pleasure to escape mental agonies. But he'd long ago learned the greater ecstasy to be found in making love to a woman, not fucking her.

Bobby had been surprised when Denise told him that she had never before been brought to orgasm during intercourse. Apparently, previous lovers hadn't taken the time to explore her body or build her desire. Instead, they all took the easier and quicker path to pleasuring her and, ultimately, themselves. Even more surprising was that she wasn't the first woman to tell him that. Bobby wondered what kind of man wouldn't mature to enjoy the slow process of lingering over a woman's body. There was a primal excitement to be found in experimenting with which caresses could make a woman shiver. Personal satisfaction was never more acute than when discovering what acts of foreplay should be drawn out. What man wouldn't want to bring a woman to the point when, bodies finally joined, longing and sensation-driven desire have her at the very brink while control of your own body keeps her there as long as possible? How could any man not want to learn where to stroke with fingertips or how to use his mouth to elicit pleasured sighs that turn to fevered gasps…gasps to throaty pleas…pleas to exalted sobs?

All this ran through his mind as his fingertips skimmed lightly over Denise's skin and his eyes trailed their own heated path on her body. Bobby took sensitive flesh into his mouth and closed his eyes in enjoyment. But he quickly realized his mistake as, in his mind's eye, images of Eames replaced the sensuous curves of the woman beside him. A smaller breast beneath his lips. Tighter, more slender thighs under his palm. Golden brown eyes watching him instead of blue.

After what Eames had told him that morning, Bobby didn't understand how he could be imagining making love to her.

_Has Alex ever orgasmed around a man inside her, or does she have yet to experience that ultimate pleasure?_

Groaning in frustration, he released Denise's breast and rose up over her body. Her eyes were dark with need and her hips rocked up toward him in invitation.

_Would Eames be as full of desire? And would that desire be enough to replace painful memories?_

As he entered her, Bobby fought to keep Denise in his mind. It helped that his name on her voice sounded nothing like the way Eames said it. His partner's version held friendship, sometimes frustration, always affection – and some unknown undertone that made Bobby prefer it.

_God! Why am I doing this? Where are these thoughts of Eames coming from? _

Denise thrust up hard beneath him and his name was strangled on a cry. She bit his shoulder none too gently, and as Bobby felt his own release explode, he clenched his teeth to hold in the word his mind was screaming.

_Alex!_

_TBC…_

A/N – This story has been stuck! After reading Kismet23, Scripted Starlet, Marion the Geek (and probably a few others), this is what I'm left with. Continuation of the case file and the interviews of the day will have to come from Eames POV in the next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – **Vengeance**

There wasn't time for them to further debate 'justice' versus 'vengeance.' They had an 11:00 appointment at Pirelli's office and needed to get uptown at mid-morning on a workday. The drive there was mostly silent, with Bobby staring out the passenger-side window, although Alex suspected he really wasn't seeing anything.

She parked the SUV in a lot two blocks from Perkins & Perkins, LLC. No sooner had they closed the car doors and heard the security system chirp than a light drizzle began to fall. Seeking the relative protection of overhanging eaves, Bobby wordlessly walked behind her instead of alongside.

Stepping off the elevator onto the third floor, they found the suite number and entered a modest but well-kept office. An extremely young receptionist, with the last name of Perkins according to the name plate on her desk, greeted them politely around the alarmingly large wad of gum she had in her mouth.

"I'm Detective Eames. This is Detective Goren. We have an appointment with Mr. Perkins."

"Which Mr. Perkins?" Her 's' slurred as Alex caught the scent of bubble gum.

"Uh…" she looked to Bobby whose blank expression told her that he really hadn't been paying attention. "Whichever one was Anthony Pirelli's boss."

"My da… um… Stephen. One moment." The young Miss Perkins grabbed a tissue and turned her back, apparently to spit out the gum, before picking up the phone and pressing an internal intercom number. "Detectives Eames and… um… Goren are here to see you." She nodded then hung up. "He'll be right with you."

Alex turned to where Bobby had been standing and was pleased to see that he seemed to be back in the groove, wandering around the office reading the plaques and diplomas that dotted the walls. He swung around to look at her and gestured at the framed documents. "None for Pirelli," he pointed out.

"Detectives?" The deep voice seemed incongruous with the small-statured man who entered the reception area. "Stephen Perkins," he immediately offered his hand in greeting. "Why don't you come to my office?"

-------------------------------------------------------

The interview with Perkins didn't offer much in the way of information on Anthony Pirelli. They found out that he was very private, well-liked, and held an Associate's Degree from a Pennsylvania community college. He was working as a Financial Analyst, basically preparing spreadsheets and reports for Perkins' small business clients.

"Any clients who were upset with him or held a grudge?" Alex asked.

"Hardly," Perkins chuckled. "He was a 'behind the scenes' kind of guy. Did a great job for us, but he wasn't in a role where he met with the clients."

"Anyone here he was close with?"

"Not really. As I said, he was pretty private," he offered. "He's been with us less than two years. If you like, I can have our receptionist pull a copy of his application for information on previous employers."

"That would be helpful, Mr. Perkins."

"Well," Perkins looked expectantly from Alex to Bobby. "If there's nothing else, I have an 11:15 appointment."

"Uh… no. I think we're done here," Bobby spoke for only the third time since they'd entered the office.

Pushing aside her worry over Bobby's reticence, Alex handed Perkins a business card. "If you think of anything else, please give us a call."

-------------------------------------------------------

Their meeting with the Pirelli's helped compensate for the meager information they'd gotten out of Perkins.

At 3:30, Bobby and Alex were in the conference room where photos had been discreetly tucked into folders, but files, notes and empty coffee cups littered the table. That's where the two officers escorting Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli found them – Bobby hunched over his notebook and Alex doing research on her laptop.

"Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli…" Both chairs scraped against the floor as they stood to greet the grieving parents. "Please, have a seat," Alex said gently while taking note of Mrs. Pirelli's red-rimmed eyes and the appearance of exhaustion they both wore.

A quick glance at Bobby told her that he was waiting for her to begin. "We're sorry for your loss," Alex recited the well-worn words that actually conveyed little and did nothing to console grief.

"Thank you," Mr. Pirelli softly answered. "How can we help you, Detectives?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli, we know this is a difficult time for you," Bobby clasped his hands and leaned over the table, a ploy Alex knew he used to compensate for his above average height. When trying to put people at ease, it helped if he could bring himself physically level with them. "My partner and I may ask some questions that you will find hard to hear… but they are necessary." With his gentle voice and soothing timbre, Alex sometimes thought Bobby would have made a good priest – if he could get past his fascination with bad behavior, lack of respect for authority and general suspicion of organized religion.

His eyes met hers and he was once again handing the baton to Alex. Internally shaking off her annoyance at him, she turned to the Pirelli's and started off with the easiest things to ask.

"How long has your son lived in New York?"

"Four years." It seemed Mr. Pirelli was the most composed and capable of answering their questions. At the mention of her son, Mrs. Pirelli's eyes had welled up and she was sniffling into a fresh tissue she'd pulled from her purse.

"Did you know any of his friends?"

"He talks…" Pirelli's voice caught before he could continue. "He talked about going out, especially on the weekends. He mentioned names of friends, but never any in particular that he always hung out with."

"We'll need a list of the names you remember," she informed him and Pirelli nodded.

"Was he seeing anyone?"

Mrs. Pirelli looked up sharply at her husband and a large tear slipped from her eye before she could dab at it with her tissue. They looked at one another in silent communication and finally Mr. Pirelli sighed.

"Mr. Pirelli?"

"My wife and I don't agree on this…" he looked from Alex to Bobby and back. "She believes he's gay. I think he's just shy around women."

His switch back to present tense wasn't lost on Alex. "Anyone in particular that either of you think he'd been involved with?"

"No," Mrs. Pirelli whispered to the table.

"Then, what would lead you to believe he was gay, Mrs. Pirelli?" Bobby finally spoke up.

"He, uh… there was someone when he was in college," she started to explain. Mr. Pirelli shook his head, but let his wife continue. "He never said as much, but to me they seemed very close – in love."

"Best friends," Mr. Pirelli insisted.

"In love!"

The question ball was back in Alex's court. "How long ago was that?"

"Six years."

"It might help if we could talk to him."

Mrs. Pirelli nodded at Alex. "I can give you his name and the last phone number I had for him."

"Would it have been a," Alex hesitated over a choice of words, "concern for either of you to find out Tony was gay?" They both looked at her in confusion. "Would he have thought he had a reason to hide it from you?" she clarified.

Looking down at her hands, Mrs. Pirelli shook her head while Mr. Pirelli gave a halting answer. "I… wouldn't have been happy about it… he's our only child. We had hoped…" his voice trailed off and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "I'd like to think… he could have told us."

"Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli…" Bobby's voice was gentle, a sure sign to Alex that he was about to ask a potentially explosive question. "Can you think of anyone who might have a reason to hurt your son? Maybe… something to do with a child?"

"What?" Mrs. Pirelli's head snapped up.

Mr. Pirelli's face went ashen. "Why would you ask that?"

Bobby visibly perked up at their reactions. "Well… we have reason to believe that whoever murdered your son… right or wrong… may blame him for harming a child."

"No!" Mrs. Pirelli stood up so fast her chair tipped over and loudly hit the floor. "No, you have it wrong!"

"Meg," her husband reached up to grip her arm. "Please…"

"They have it wrong," she glared down at him.

Alex stood up to right the fallen chair and rested her hand on Mrs. Pirelli's shoulder. "Mrs. Pirelli… please…" She felt the woman's body relax beneath her hand as she slumped back into her chair.

"Okay…" Bobby was being agreeable. "We have it wrong. Tell us… what would be right?"

As Mrs. Pirelli shredded the edges of her tissue, Mr. Pirelli told them. "When Tony was… thirteen," he reached over to grip his wife's free hand while her other once again dabbed at her eyes. "We suspected that he was… sexually assaulted by a summer camp counselor."

"Suspected?" Alex now leaned into the table. "Tony didn't tell you?"

Both parents shook their head. "He never said anything. But when he came home that summer he was… withdrawn. He… flinched whenever you tried to touch him. The rest of the summer, Tony stayed in his room – reading and avoiding his friends. My wife… once caught him crying…"

"Sobbing," she tearfully corrected.

Mr. Pirelli rested his hand on his wife's back and rubbed soothingly between her shoulder blades. "We don't really know what… but something happened that summer. Tony was in pain and we're not sure why. It was a long time before he was himself again."

Alex nodded in understanding. "We'll need more information… the camp… the name of the counselor you suspected…" Her heart went out to Mrs. Pirelli; she was so obviously distraught.

But when she looked up at Bobby to get a feel for where he wanted to go with the questioning, Alex's heart tripped then hammered in her chest. His eyes were filled with cold rage and in the moment it took her to gasp a breath, she understood it wasn't for Anthony Pirelli's sake.

-------------------------------------------------------

Maybe she shouldn't have told Bobby about Danny McKinnon.

Alex didn't really quite understand why she did. It had happened so long ago and she mostly went through her adult life not even thinking about it. But sometimes, one small thing could trigger the memory. This time it was that damn rag doll. She'd never owned one so that wasn't the reason. Alex thought perhaps it was the braids; that's how she often wore her own hair at the age of twelve. Or maybe it was what she suspected the doll represented – the theft of innocence and childhood.

Whatever the reason, the sight of that doll brought the memories and their associated emotions rushing fiercely back to her. Bobby's flippant dismissal of her comment about 'justice' pissed her off, and her first impulse had been to throw this in his face. Ultimately, that wasn't why she told him. She knew she could trust Bobby with the knowledge and fully expected that he would not pity her nor judge her father's friend. He would listen and understand her point of view on the killers' motivations. If anyone could keep historical events in perspective, it was her partner.

Alex should have cut her story short when she saw the first shine of anger in his eyes.

His empathy and anguish on her behalf surprised her. Sure they were partners, with the added benefit of a continually deepening friendship. But by the end of her story, Bobby had seemed vengeful and she wasn't sure she wanted to know where that was coming from. Truth be told, she thought Bobby himself was confused by it all. Throughout the day he became increasingly brooding and short-tempered. He'd all but bolted from the office immediately following their meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli, leaving her to update Deakins. Alex suspected that he'd gone to see Denise, and a whole different pit of emotion formed in her chest. The subtle shift in their relationship that began during her maternity leave was rearing its ugly head. She had yet to fully acquaint herself with the beast, and stubbornly pushed it away once more.

They'd get past this. They always have.

_TBC…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – **Vengeance**

His first sensory awareness was the weight on his chest and the soft form wrapped beneath his arm. With his next breath came the scent of Denise and sex. Rested, satisfied and still half asleep, Bobby smiled. Last night was exactly what he'd needed – a desirable and willing lover, followed by a few hours of sleep. He let his thoughts aimlessly drift where they would through vague dreams and memories, until his eyes snapped open with a quick pang of guilt. _Eames_. His thoughts had been on her during lovemaking.

_Dammit!_

Bobby looked down at Denise's hair spilling across his shoulder and he leaned in to catch more of her scent while placing a lingering kiss on her brow. With a soft sound of contentment, Denise stirred. Her lips pressed against his chest and then she slowly licked the kiss from his skin. Bobby's instinctive hum of approval roused her, and she moved her mouth to a more sensitive spot to continue her warm, wet caresses. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder trailed downward to wrap around confirmation of his morning condition and he couldn't hold back his soft moan. It was Denise's turn to hum approval.

"I like waking up with you," she murmured against his skin.

"Me?" his low voice husked with awakened desire. "Or what you're holding?"

He was punished with a sharp nip and his hips reflexively rocked into her hand in response to the painful pleasure.

Denise soothed the hurt with her tongue before looking up at him with dark eyes. "Both," she breathed.

For probably the first time that he could remember, Bobby was late getting to work.

----------------------------------------------------

Alex was beginning to worry. Confident that Bobby had gone to Denise's last night, she'd resisted the temptation to call him – its only purpose would have been to give her peace of mind. But Bobby was more than thirty minutes late and not answering his cell phone. She now regretted that she had ignored her inner voice when it battled to be heard. Even its petulant pout had not forced Alex to give in to an undefined need to hear Bobby's reassurance.

Given another twenty minutes, panic might start to bleed into her worry and that voice would triumphantly begin mocking her.

Thankfully, she had a distraction. On the occasions when Bobby wasn't around, Detective Rob Snyder had a way of hanging by her desk. Alex wasn't sure what his problem was with her partner, but Snyder tended to keep himself scarce when he couldn't catch her alone. She always held her breath and hoped he wasn't steeling himself to ask her out. He was attractive, maybe ten years older than she, and not Alex's type. Snyder did, however, tell the funniest stories and jokes in the MCS, and it was while she was laughing hysterically about a priest, an elephant and Heaven that her partner turned the corner from the elevators. Good thing she was already flushed from laughter because she felt totally foolish. This was a Bobby Goren she hadn't seen for several weeks – relaxed and rested, and more than a little cocky with satisfaction. Alex almost blushed deeper at her thoughts as to the cause of this rejuvenated man. Whatever Denise did for him, she ought to think about bottling it.

And yet, despite the fact that Alex felt relief along with her embarrassment, there was an undercurrent of resentment at the thought that this time, another woman had filled her role. This time, Denise was the one who grounded Bobby. This time, Denise assuaged his emotional upset and restored his inner calm. This time, Alex wasn't needed.

Bruised ego or not, she couldn't suppress her pleased smile when a steaming hot, perfectly-sweetened cup of Starbuck's accompanied Bobby's gentle, "Good morning."

-----------------------------------------------------

The elevator doors opened and Bobby was greeted by a burst of raucous laughter, undeniably coming from the direction of the squad room. Through all the noise, the sounds that his ears caught and held were Alex's joyous peals. Bobby smiled without even knowing the joke.

He rounded the corner and his amusement faded a bit. Snyder. He should have known. The guy couldn't seem to stay away from Eames unless Bobby was nearby, and for all her biting wit and sarcasm, she didn't seem to have the heart to be rude to the pest. If he would just screw up the nerve to ask her out, Bobby was sure Eames would find a polite but firm way to turn him down and his love-sick puppy act could move on.

Snyder spotted him first and his grin froze. When Eames turned to see what had paralyzed her joke-telling companion, Bobby was struck by her wide smile and a sparkle in her eyes he hadn't seen in a long time. _When was the last time she's laughed like that with me?_

The closer he got to their desks, the more Eames' grin melted to a softer smile. A look of uncertainty in her eyes confused him, but it was quickly lost once he handed her the morning cup of Starbuck's he'd impulsively bought for her at the corner.

They barely had enough time to exchange, 'Good mornings' when an assistant from the CSU lab stopped by Eames' desk with a folder and handed it to her.

"We have an ID on the second victim."

_TBC…_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - **Vengeance**

"Thomas Moreno. Age twenty-nine. Moved to Queens two years ago from Charlotte, North Carolina. Bachelor's degree from UNC. Was attending NYU for his Master's while working full-time at a brokerage firm on Wall Street."

Deakins' frown deepened with each sentence Alex relayed. "Any connection between the two victims?"

"It doesn't appear that way," she replied from her seat in front of Deakins' desk. "But we still need to dig into their social lives."

"A connection would be helpful," the captain muttered, as if Bobby and Alex should go make it happen.

_'He must be getting pressure from the top,'_ Alex thought. That's what usually brought on his grumpy moods and unreasonable expectations_. 'I guess hangings in Central Park don't look good for the Mayor's visitors campaign.'_

It was late in the day, and she and Bobby were in Deakins' office updating him on their investigation. The morning had been spent at Moreno's apartment with the CSU team, followed by a quick swing by the Park to inspect the tree and scene of the hanging. Their afternoon started with a visit to Rodgers at the morgue before they settled in at their desks for electronic research and phone calls, one of which resulted in an interview with his employer for the next day.

"What about Moreno's background? Any evidence of abuse, either way?"

"He has no criminal record and no reports of abuse were filed by him or on his behalf," Alex answered. "I did a search on the internet for websites that identify sexual predators and registered offenders… no pop on either victim."

The whole time she was reporting to Deakins, Bobby was sitting off in a corner, studying the photos of the victims as they were found at the Park. "Does this look familiar to you?" he suddenly asked.

She and the captain both looked over at the photos he was now holding up to show them. Alex tilted her head and gave it some thought. "They remind me of those da Vinci drawings…"

Bobby nodded approval. "Vetruvian Man… Leonardo da Vinci's study of the ideal proportions for the male human body."

"Is that significant?" Deakins asked.

"Well… it depends on whether or not it has meaning for the killers," Goren placed his notebook on table beside him, stood up and began pacing a short pattern at one end of the office. "Vetruvian Man was originally conceived by a Roman architect who used what he perceived as… the perfect proportions of the human body in the design of his buildings," he stopped pacing and faced them. Seeing their confusion, his hand waved vaguely in the air as he further explained. "A palm is the width of four fingers… a foot is the width of four palms… the distance of a man's outspread arms is equal to his height…"

Still baffled as to what that could possibly have to do with two murders, Alex and Deakins just nodded.

"Da Vinci's image of Vetruvian Man is…" Bobby picked up one of the pictures and held it so Alex and Deakins could see as he traced shapes. "It's inscribed by a circle and a square. It's believed that the square represents material existence, while the circle is the spiritual realm. There are also those who believe that the… the five points of the body…" and he now traced a different pattern on the photo of Moreno, "feet… head… hands… represent the five points of a star."

Alex felt a small chill of understanding. "A pentagram." Bobby nodded.

"Whoa," Deakins held out a hand to halt this line of discussion. "Let's not even go there."

Bobby shook his head. "Santanism or otherwise… there are potential religious interpretations to Vetruvian Man."

"Including crucifixion?" Deakins asked.

"Crucifixion would have the legs together, as Christ is portrayed on the cross."

"Religious interpretations," Deakins repeated. He stood up from his desk and began his own pattern of pacing as his anxiety and discomfort with the subject became apparent. "What would children's toys have to do with religion?" he demanded.

"Again, it depends what all this means to the killers," Bobby answered calmly. "This is all speculation."

"Well let's not go down that path until we have more information," the captain firmly instructed. "It's bad enough we have hangings going on at a public park that's also a major tourist attraction. We don't need to add fears of religious sacrifice to the mix"

"Moreno's parents and two sisters are on their way to New York," Alex stepped in. "We'll try to set up a meeting with them tomorrow, find out if there's anything in his background that's similar to Pirelli."

"For now, let's stick with the theory of child molestation," Deakins seemed anxious to distance the discussion from the topic of Satanism. The captain shoved his hands in his pants pockets and faced Bobby head on. "If it turns out that both men were abuse victims, that changes the motivation and the profile of the killers."

"Not necessarily," Bobby argued. "Victims of abuse often become abusers. Although with Pirelli, it doesn't appear to be of the long-term, prolonged variety that would be a… a catalyst for him to become an abuser himself."

"They're from two different states, with no apparent connection," Deakins was now thinking out loud. "If they're not identified anywhere as sex offenders, how did the killers find them?"

"If they truly are child molesters… their victims would know them. It would be easy enough to find them." Bobby took a step toward the captain to emphasize his next point. "In that case, the more interesting question would be: How did the killers, with the same motivations or the same histories, find each other?"

"This is all giving me a headache," Deakins groaned as he sank back into his chair.

"If they're local, it could be a therapy or support group," Alex suggested. "Or the internet… chat rooms."

"The internet would mean they could be from anywhere," Deakins complained.

"Yes… it would," Bobby slowly agreed with a new light in his eyes. He abruptly picked up his notebook and headed for the office door. "We, uh… we need to find out if this is happening anywhere else."

_TBC…_

A/N - If this is all getting too complex or something doesn't make sense, I would appreciate feedback. This is certainly a more involved story than what I typically write.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – **Vengeance**

"What are we looking for?"

"Deaths by hanging. For now, let's stick with the Northeast in say… the last three months."

Bobby had rolled a chair up behind Eames where she sat at her desk working her magic with the computer. With one arm draped along the back of her chair, he leaned an elbow on her desk and propped his head in his hand as he watched her fingers fly over the keyboard. He then began reading the resultant list displayed on the monitor.

"This list includes movies, stories and snuff porn," Eames grumbled.

"Add 'news articles' to the search," Bobby suppressed a smile at her frustration.

"Here we go…"

He leaned in closer to get a better look at the brief descriptions following each item on the list. 'Pennsylvania. Vermont. Rhode Island.' More than he'd expected. "Try this one," he pointed to the Pennsylvania article first.

"Eames." They both looked up to where Jeffries called her name from the elevator lobby. "You have a visitor." Jeffries stepped away to reveal Eric Geddes standing behind him, scowling. Bobby leaned back and removed his arm from the back of Eames' chair. She hesitated and glanced at Bobby before getting up and going to Eric. While trying to surreptitiously watch them out of the corner of his eye, Bobby idly scrolled with the mouse. After only a few moments of conversation, it was clear that Eric was definitely not happy, which resulted in a definitely-not-happy Eames.

"I can't tonight." The fact that her voice carried over to where Bobby was sitting in the squad room was evidence of her growing anger.

"You're with him more than you're with me!" At that exclamation, everyone in the squad room looked up at the couple. Eames grabbed Eric's arm and angrily dragged him around the corner. Bobby thought he'd be lucky to get away uninjured.

Less than two minutes later, Eames was walking back to her desk, head held high and fire in her eyes. Without a word, she sat down in her chair, clicked on the Pennsylvania article and began scrolling through it – much too quickly to actually be reading it.

"Anything I can do?" Bobby asked.

She shook her head and Bobby knew her annoyance wasn't directed at him. Scrolling back up to the top of the article, Eames seemed determined to focus on it while Bobby was still watching her. With a deep sigh, she released the mouse and stood up.

"I need a cup of coffee. Do you want some?" she finally looked directly at him.

"Yeah… sure," he answered quietly.

Bobby watched her walk away, noting the stiff set of her spine and her angry stride. He knew they all walked down this path at one point or another in relationships. Dating a cop was not easy. Their job required long hours, last minute cancellations, and unexpected interruptions of personal plans. A relationship with one of them required patience and understanding, more so if the cop's partner was the opposite sex. Eric Geddes didn't seem to possess either requirement.

Bobby got up and walked into the break room where Eames was furiously stirring her cup of coffee. She looked up when he entered the room.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" he offered.

She tapped the wooden stirrer against the rim of her cup then tossed it in the trash. "No need," she picked up his cup of black coffee and handed it to him. "I told him it's over."

Stunned, Bobby hesitated before reaching for his cup. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." She took a sip of her coffee before stepping around him and heading back toward their desks.

He realized that Eames was a woman who knew her own mind, but this seemed impulsive, even for her. As Bobby settled back into his chair behind her, he once again leaned in close, this time so only she would hear him.

"Are you sure about this, Eames? He's just frustrated…"

"I'm sure, Bobby," she cut him off. She turned to look at him and that's when Bobby realized just how close he was. He saw more gold in her eyes than he'd ever noticed before, and he caught the scent of coffee on her breath and perfume from her hair. He heard her breath catch and for the space of a heartbeat, neither one of them moved. Bobby imperceptibly pulled back to a more acceptable distance, and Alex released the breath she'd been holding. He saw something – _disappointment?_ – flash in her brown-gold depths before she turned back to the computer.

"Not everyone can be as happy as you and Denise."

Bobby blinked at the bitterness he heard in her voice. He didn't understand what just happened, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something important had passed between them. His own recent thoughts about possession and caring flickered through his mind, and he wondered if Eames was struggling with the same feelings. They did spend a lot of time together. Partnership loyalty combined with their additional dimension of affectionate friendship could account for their jumbled emotions.

However, that mental argument quickly disintegrated as he recalled his imagined lovemaking with her. He would be hard-pressed to pass that off as 'loyalty' or 'affection.'

Bobby backed a little further away from Eames and focused his attention on the computer screen. _This is definitely not the time or place to remember those images._

They were both silent for a minute, reading (or pretending to read) the Pennsylvania article. Something in the words before his eyes finally caught Bobby's attention. "Eames… scroll back up here," he pointed to a sentence in the paragraph before.

_'Pennsylvania State Troopers suspect a child's presence at the murder scene and have added_ Corruption of a Minor _to the charges.'_

"Now, why do you suppose they suspect a child was present?" he asked unnecessarily.

"They found a toy," Eames smirked back at him.

"Uh… we need to go to Pennsylvania… tomorrow. What time is our meeting with Moreno's employer?"

"Nine o'clock. His parents are supposed to be at the morgue in the morning. If we can schedule time with them right after that…"

"We can meet with the State Troopers tomorrow afternoon."

_TBC…_


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – ff.n still seems to be a bit hinky and since I can't tell who is or isn't receiving eMails from me, I'll use this space to say **'Thank You'** to everyone who is sticking with this story, and especially those readers who take the time to review and give feedback. You keep me going!

-----------------------------------------

Chapter 12 – **Vengeance**

"So what are you thinking on this, Bobby?"

Eames was navigating along Interstate 80 in New Jersey, headed toward White Haven in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. State Troopers were scheduled to meet them at the crime scene in Hickory Run State Park at 4:00 p.m. and they were going to have to push it to make it there on time. The interview with Moreno's parents had not gone well, and had taken longer than Bobby anticipated.

Mr. and Mrs. Moreno were horrified – and abusively angry – at the suggestion that their son's murder was in any way related to child molestation. Which, of course, only served to further Bobby's suspicions that there was something to it. It seemed to be a case of, _'Methinks thou doth protest too much…'_

But they weren't going to get anything more out of them, at least not that day. Bobby had also noticed that one of the sisters seemed particularly withdrawn and, although she'd been intently studying Bobby during his questioning, she suddenly averted her eyes once he'd asked about Thomas' potential link to children.

"I'm thinking the Morenos know more than they're telling us, particularly Sarah."

"I agree," Eames stated before she abruptly swerved to miss a large piece of peeled off re-tread lying in the middle of the passing lane. Bobby swayed against her shoulder and back again as she smoothly straightened the vehicle. "But I was asking about the whole case. Five hangings in four states within two months of each other. They have to be related."

"Well… we won't know if toys were found at the ones in Vermont and Rhode Island until the detectives call back."

"C'mon, Bobby. You're dodging my question," Eames complained. "What made you think that we should look to see if this was happening anywhere else?"

Bobby smiled. He wasn't sure why he sometimes took pleasure in frustrating her, but he could always tell when it was working. Her cheeks would flush and there would be an extra spark in her eyes. Her usual smart aleck comments could become even more sarcastic, amusing him no end. _But still…_

"It was your suggestion about the internet, and Deakins' comment about… how the killers could be from anywhere," he started to explain. Eames glanced at him with flushed cheeks and a frown of question on her brow. Bobby decided he'd had enough fun. "What do you think the odds are that two child molesters… who aren't publicly known as such… would be identified, targeted, and murdered in the same manner?"

Eames shrugged.

"If it's random… nearly impossible. But… if it's, uh… solicited…" Bobby let the suggestion hang in the air.

Mouth agape, Eames' head swung to look at him then quickly turned back toward the road. "Contracted killings?"

"It's a real possibility," he answered as she shook her head in disbelief. "Think about it, Eames. Just suppose… that these individual victims of unreported abuse find each other through the internet. A chat room… where they can share their stories…" Bobby's voice softened. "Where they can finally… talk to someone… who understands."

Eames calmly nodded, but Bobby's gut again roiled as he remembered the pain in her eyes when she related her own experience. "You were right Eames," he said gently.

She looked at him in confusion. "About what?"

"This is about justice… or at least the promise of it," he conceded. "That chat group of victims is the source of motivation for these killings."

"You think they all banded together to murder each other's abusers?" Alex sounded doubtful.

"That's possible. But I think it's more likely that there's a group… contracting itself out… seeking justice on behalf of these unavenged victims."

Eames was silent for a while, seeming to consider his theory. "So what about the religious angle?" she suddenly questioned. "The positioning of the bodies? How does that figure into this?"

Excited to share what he'd found, Bobby held up his left hand, index finger extended, as with his right he reached to retrieve his binder from between his feet on the floor. Flipping to the paper he was looking for, he quickly read from the page he'd printed earlier that day.

_"Leonardo envisaged the great picture chart of the human body he had produced through his anatomical drawings and Vitruvian Man as a…_ cosmografia del minor mondo…" he pronounced the Italian perfectly then looked at her and further clarified. "A cosmography of the microcosm."

"A what?"

Smiling, he continued. "_The concept of macrocosm and microcosm is an ancient Greek schema of seeing the same patterns reproduced in all levels of the cosmos. With Pythagoras, the… discovery of the golden ratio and its philosophical conception called the Golden mean… the Greeks saw that this golden ratio is repeated in all parts of the ordered universe, both large and small."_

Ending his recital, Bobby added some of his own explanation. "The golden ratio is the basis for Vetruvian Man. And in Leonardo's drawing, the circle represents the spiritual realm… the square, material existence. So the human body represents the perfect marriage of matter and spirit."

"Oka-a-a-y…" Eames nodded, hanging with him so far.

_"The Greeks were very concerned with a rational explanation of everything and… saw this repetition of the golden mean as a pattern that was reproduced throughout reality. It is a product of the ancient Greek mentality of… of seeing reality as a whole and noticing patterns that are repeated throughout all the levels of reality. In short…,"_ and here Bobby began to place emphasis on the remaining words of the article, _"it is the recognition that the same traits appear in entities of many different sizes, from one man to the entire human population."_

"So… da Vinci's portrayal of Vetruvian Man can be used as a symbol of… what? Innate human traits?"

Bobby nodded, once again impressed at how well Eames could grasp his sometimes unconventional thought processes. Holding up his left hand one more time to read the end of the article, he continued. _"Today, the concept of microcosm has been taken over by sociology to mean a small group of individuals whose behavior is typical of a larger social body encompassing it. A microcosm can be seen as a special kind of embodiment."_

"All of which means what?"

"All of which means that I was also right. These murders _are_ vigilantism," he said cautiously, not willing to entertain another argument with Eames on the topic of justice versus vengeance. But to his surprise, she only nodded encouragement for him to continue. "The molesters – our hanging victims – are seen as a group, unique unto themselves with their proclivity toward harming children. The murderers see themselves as… avengers. Targeting this microcosm of humanity and… displaying their bodies in such a way as to… symbolize their collective connection. They see themselves as cleansing the larger social body of this small group of individuals."

They rode in silence, both lost in their own considerations of Bobby's far-fetched conjectures. Finally, Eames spoke up.

"I don't know, Bobby. This all seems pretty 'out there.' I mean, without any evidence of this…" her voice trailed off.

He nodded, fully understanding her reservations. Bobby looked over at her. "We need to get back and do some research on the computer."

_TBC…_

A/N2 – I… ahem… _borrowed_ heavily from Wikipedia for all of Bobby's gobbledygook.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 – **Vengeance**

They rode in comfortable silence through the Kittatinny Mountains of New Jersey, cutting through Jenny Jump State Forest before crossing the Delaware River to Pennsylvania and Big Pocono State Park. Bobby was having a hard time remembering when the last time was that he made this drive west through the mountains. It was a beautiful, relaxing reminder that nature existed outside the confines of the steel, glass and concrete structures of New York City. He made a vague promise to himself to do this more often.

Eames easily found the exit off Interstate 80, and from there signs directed them to Hickory Run State Park. Narrow roads wound through the forests and clearings of the park, with small roadside markers indicating various vistas and attractions to be seen. They headed toward the parking lot for the Boulder Field. As Eames made a left turn and the tires ground over the gravel turnoff for parking, they saw a state police car already there with two troopers leaning against the trunk waiting for them. The officers stood away from the car as the SUV approached.

"I'm Detective Goren," Bobby shook hands first with the older of the two, ranked as sergeant by his uniform. "This is Detective Eames."

"Sergeant Peters," he introduced himself. Gray hair cropped to a crew cut and a curt, respectful manner hinted of military background. "Officer Yoder," Peters gestured to the much younger man beside him. Neatly groomed blonde hair with intelligent blue eyes, Goren guessed that he'd been on the job less than five years. "He was one of the officers who first responded," Sergeant Peters continued. "What's NYPD's interest in this case?"

"The method of killing and certain evidence are similar to two murders in New York this past weekend," Eames responded.

"What evidence?"

"The, uh… the newspaper article and crime report said the murder happened two weeks ago…" Goren trailed off in question. Both Peters and Yoder nodded. "And that you suspect a child was present during the killing." Again, the state troopers nodded agreement. "May I ask why?"

The troopers glanced warily at each other before Peters spoke up. "We've… held back that information…"

"You found a toy, didn't you?" Trust Eames to cut through the crap.

Yoder's eyes briefly registered surprise. "Yes," he answered to her.

"What was it?"

"A small teddy bear." Peters gestured a length of about eight inches. "I take it yours had toys as well?"

Goren nodded. "A doll and a… a wooden block," he offered in the spirit of sharing. "What about the positioning of the body?"

At this question, both troopers' expressions hardened. "Displayed," Peters answered. "Moved to an open clearing, arms and legs spread wide. Someone is proud of their work."

"Yeah, we've noticed," Eames agreed. "Anything noteworthy or out of the ordinary with the rope used to hang him?"

"Nah. Other than the CS techs determined that he was hauled up rather than dropped," Peters replied. "Any of this sounding like your New York murders?"

Eames glanced at Bobby then back at the troopers before responding. "To a T."

"Either of your victims spotted with a young woman prior to the murders?" Peters asked.

"A young woman?" Eames shook her head then looked at Bobby with a frown of question. "I don't remember seeing anything about that in the crime report."

"Just found out this afternoon," Peters explained. "He was spotted leaving a local bar with a young woman. Mid-twenties, long brown hair, attractive. The bartender and some of the other patrons remember her – they're with a sketch artist as we speak."

"We'd like a copy of that sketch."

"Certainly," Peters smiled at her, the first of their meeting.

"We also have a lead on a black van that was seen leaving this parking lot," Officer Yoder spoke up. "A couple of kids looking for a place to make out spotted it. It left before they did. They remembered a partial plate – REM – like the band."

"They know what state?" Eames sounded hopeful.

"Nope. Only that it wasn't Pennsylvania."

"It would help us if we could get, uh… copies of your crime scene notes… and photos," Goren looked from Peters to Yoder and back again.

"Absolutely," Peters' eyes met his. "I'm sure the Pennsylvania State Police would be happy to reciprocate with the NYPD."

_Shrewd_. Bobby smiled and nodded. "We'll have copies made and sent by courier."

"We'd like to see the crime scene before heading out," Eames requested.

Officer Yoder extended a hand toward a path leading into the woods. "Follow me."

------------------------------------------

"Good information. Worth the trip," Eames commented as she navigated their way back out of the park toward I-80. "But it doesn't contribute much to your theory."

"Uh-hmmm," Bobby hummed absently. "The young woman… she may have been the bait. She may even be the one who is administering the Rohypnol."

Eames nodded then glanced over at him. He saw the look of concern in her eyes. "I don't know, Bobby. This whole 'Vetruvian Man' and 'golden ratio' stuff…" she hesitated. "Isn't that more complex than this needs to be? Maybe this is just a bunch of nut jobs."

Bobby smiled. "Oh, I agree… they're a bunch of nut jobs. The rest of it is all about their motivation and the fact that… they think what they're doing is justified. That's where the whole 'microcosm' of mankind figures in. It's their belief that they're purging mankind of a common sub-set that shouldn't exist and… detracts from the perfection of man."

"Child molesters."

"Right."

"But there is _no_ _proof_ that any of these men were child molesters," Eames argued.

"Well… that's the point, isn't it?" Goren turned to face her. "These men haven't been recognized and brought to justice. They've been hidden and their murderers intend to 'out' them."

Her loud sigh was thick with frustration. "They could just as easily be…" Eames stumbled over a choice of words. "Circus clowns… there's no proof of that, either."

"Okay…" he agreed while grinning at her impulsive choice of words. He understood that, although Eames was usually willing to ride along with his theories, she also worked best off of solid evidence. Profiling and analysis aside, Eames wanted facts. "Look, that summer camp that Pirelli attended… Camp Lohikan. It's in the Poconos. Let's… stay here in Pennsylvania tonight and then tomorrow we'll go check out the camp. Maybe we can find someone who remembers something from twenty years ago."

"A night at a hotel in the Poconos? The 'Honeymoon Capital of the World'?" she smirked at him. "You get to call Deakins and explain it."

_TBC…_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – **Vengeance**

Bobby checked the Pennsylvania map he pulled from the glove box and discovered that Camp Lohikan was far north of I-80. They would need to turn off onto I-380 and head to Scranton to pick-up I-81 then drive north, almost to the Pennsylvania/New York border.

Billboards along the interstate advertised numerous resorts, many of them couples-only. Finally they spotted one for a Comfort Inn in Mount Pocono that seemed more likely to pass muster on an expense report. Along the way, they stopped at a drug store to pick up the necessities for an overnight stay away from home, including certain clothing items. As they were ready to leave the parking lot, Bobby spotted a bar across the street and had Eames pull in so he could pick up a six-pack of beer to go. _"Might as well relax this evening,"_ he explained and she smiled in understanding.

They had no trouble finding the Comfort Inn, and the desk clerk seemed unconcerned that the only luggage they had was branded 'Walgreens.' Bobby was given room 202, while Eames was across the hall and down a few doors in 209.

"Why don't you settle in and then come back for a beer?" Bobby called after her as she headed toward her room.

"I'll see you in about ten." Her voice trailed off as her door closed behind her.

It was less than ten minutes later when Bobby's cell phone rang, immediately followed by a knock at his door. He dreaded answering the phone, fearing that it was Deakins calling back to give him more of a hard time. Surprisingly, rather than being annoyed or suspicious about his top detective team staying in the Poconos for the night, the captain had come across as amused to the point of hinting that he relished the opportunity for jokes to be made at their expense. Bobby knew Deakins would never instigate them, but he sure as hell knew how to enjoy a good prank.

While answering the door, he flipped open the phone and saw that it was Denise. "Hey, babe." Eames' eyes widened before she realized he held the cell phone to his ear and they wound up grinning at each other in embarrassment.

"No, we're not going to make it back to the City tonight…" _This is going to be fun to explain._

Eames grabbed a beer from where they sat on the dresser and indicated she was going out to the patio. Bobby nodded and turned his full attention to Denise. The call lasted less than five minutes and by the end, he figured he was on the hook for an expensive dinner – maybe some flowers.

"Everything okay?" Eames looked up as he stepped out onto the patio. She was already settled into one of the chairs with her feet propped up on the railing.

"It will be," he shrugged as he lowered himself into his own chair and placed the remainder of the six-pack on the small table between them.

It was a clear night with a three-quarter moon lighting the clearing beneath them and the woods beyond. The night air was just beginning to develop a chill, but for now, it felt refreshing.

"This job is hell on relationships," Eames murmured.

Bobby nodded and took a swallow of beer, not sure if he wanted to get into a discussion about Denise right now.

"What made you decide to become a profiler?" she asked out of the blue.

He turned to her and saw nothing more than genuine curiosity. Resting his head against the back of the chair, Bobby looked up at the myriad of stars and took another swallow of beer before answering.

"You know the reasons for my interest in psychology and the human mind," he began. "And you know about my mentor, Declan Gage." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Eames nodding. "I guess my interest and Declan converged at the right time. Profiling satisfies my need to have a… a deeper understanding of what motivates people – what motivates the criminal mind."

"I worry about you sometimes," she said softly. Bobby looked at her in surprise and she hesitated before explaining. "I worry that you see too many dark things… understand evil too well."

His eyes held hers and his heart beat just a little faster at the sheen of concern he saw in her brown depths. He felt an overwhelming need to reassure her. "Part of learning to become a profiler is… also learning to put that aside… so it doesn't spill over into your personal life."

Eames looked doubtful, but Bobby didn't know what else to tell her. She was right. There were times when it was hard to let go. There were times when nightmares plagued him and he awoke in a sweat while peering into the shadows seeking whatever demon he'd seen in his dreams. Her eyes searched his and, try as he might, he didn't think he'd fooled her. Eames always could read him too well.

Letting him off the hook for now, she settled back into her chair, placed her empty bottle on the table and reached for another beer. Just as she was twisting off the cap, there was movement on the ground beneath them.

He heard her gasp and saw her lean forward. "Oh, look… deer!"

"What did you call me?"

Alex laughed. Playfully shoving his arm, she grinned at him and continued the teasing. "Robert, how's that? Or maybe Rob. Robbie? Bob? Oooo… how about Bert?"

Chuckling, he decided to play along. "Yours is worse."

"How so?"

Bobby placed his beer on the table and began counting off on his fingers. "Alexandra. Al. Allie. Alex. Alexa. Lex. Lexie. And then there's Xandra. Or maybe just Xannie…"

"Xannie?" She wrinkled her nose and made a face. "I think I'd have to hurt someone if they called me that."

He picked up his beer, leaned back in his chair, and turned his head to look at her. "There's always Eames," he said gently. "It suits you. Straight forward."

She seemed embarrassed and looked away from him. "Well, if you don't mind, I think I'll still ask the men I date to call me Alex," she spoke to the night air. "Somehow I don't think I'd like to be called Eames during lovemaking."

Bobby almost choked on his beer as he remembered that during his own fantasies, 'Alex' was the name he called her, not 'Eames.'

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She apparently mistook his silence. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

_Yes you did._ "I'm not uncomfortable," he decided to get even. "I'm just trying to imagine it."

Even though he couldn't clearly see it in the dim light of the moon, he was pretty sure that she was now blushing. "Oh, so now you're trying to make me uncomfortable," Alex complained.

"Did it work?" he smiled

"Yes." He heard laughter in her voice.

"Good," Bobby grinned. "Then my work here is done." He grabbed another beer and stood up to head back inside. "I'm going to go get ready to turn in."

Alex yawned. "Okay… I'll toddle on back to my place."

Suddenly he wasn't sure he was ready for her to leave, and his uncertain mind grasped the first available excuse. "Feel free to finish your beer and watch the news while I take a shower," he offered.

"Thanks… I think I will."

---------------------------------------------

Now that he was in the shower, Bobby wondered what he'd been thinking when he offered for Eames to stay and watch the news. Standing here naked in the tub with warm water sluicing his skin, the knowledge that she was just in the next room was somehow… intimate. With his eyes tightly closed against the soap and water while he rinsed his hair, a recently recurring fantasy formed in his mind. Knowing that she was nearby and probably sitting on that king-size bed should have been enough to end the fantasy but instead, it only served to provide a new twist.

_Bored with the news and, of course, no longer able to resist him, Alex strips down naked and enters the bathroom, intent on joining him in the shower. His initial surprise when she pulls back the curtain is instantly replaced by hard desire at the sight of her smooth skin, her slight but full breasts, and the dark vee at the juncture of her thighs. With dark eyes and a sexy smile, she steps into the tub, takes the soap from his hands and begins lathering her own. She starts at his neck, massaging away the day's tension before moving on to his shoulders. Taking up the soap once more, her hands move lower across his chest where she skillfully trails fingertips and nails over already sensitized dusky tips. More lather and now she is soaping his abdomen and Bobby feels his muscles quiver at her touch. Finally,_ finally_, she wraps one hand around his hardened flesh while the other caresses between his thighs and he can't hold back the soft groan that escapes him. Her hands slide around his hips to cup firm muscles as she pulls him close against her. Alex's body is now sliding against his soap slickened skin while her tongue thirstily licks water from his chest…_

Bobby groaned again and opened his eyes in frustration. Leaning his head against the cool tile, he realized his body would now demand that he finish what he started.

Dried off from the shower that took longer than he first anticipated, Bobby dropped the towel on the floor, slipped on a new, clean tee-shirt and boxers, and decided he should also pull his trousers back on.

Using a second towel to rub at his graying curls, he stepped out of the bathroom to the voice of a newscaster announcing some new crisis in the Middle East. And there was Eames. Lying on the bed, curled on her side with one hand tucked beneath her head and the other holding the remote control. Eyes closed and breaths even, she was fast asleep. Draping the towel around his neck, Bobby stood there for a minute watching her. _This is getting to be a habit – one I could get used to._

Cursing himself and his fickle libido, Bobby walked over to the bed and looked down at her. _She's really out._ He reached across her to pull up the edge of the bedspread and drape it over her, but apparently, he wasn't smooth enough as she stirred and sleepily opened her eyes.

"Mmmm… what are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered. "I'll head over to your room."

"Why?" she seemed confused.

_What other choice is there?_ "Uh, Eames… I'd rather not sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," Eames murmured as her eyes drifted closed. "It's a king-size bed. Besides, I'm leaving soon. I just need a few minutes…"

Bobby's internal debate team was going at it fast and furious. It really was a large bed. And if she did plan on getting up and heading back to her room shortly, what was the harm? "At least get under the blankets," he coaxed.

"I'm under a blanket," Alex mumbled.

He couldn't help but smile. Alex really was amusing when she was sleepy. "Here," Bobby pulled the bedspread away from her, slipped her shoes off, then helped tuck her legs beneath the blankets.

She stretched out and pulled a pillow beneath her head. "'Night, Bobby."

"Good night, Alex," he murmured.

---------------------------------------------

Bobby snapped awake. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, but once he got his bearings, his first instinct was to check the clock on the nightstand to determine what time it was. 2:12.

_Alex_.

He quickly turned to look at the other side of the bed and saw that it was empty. Reaching out and sliding his palm over the sheets, he felt that they were still warm. The sound of the door closing as she left must have been what awakened him.

Rolling onto his side, Bobby pulled her pillow beneath his head and buried his face in the rich scent of her. Guilt over his thoughts of Alex while still dating Denise would come later. At 2:13 in the morning, all he felt was a restful calm overtake him as he drifted into pleasant dreams.

_TBC…_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – **Vengeance**

Bobby awoke from a solid four hours of peaceful sleep with an overall feeling of well-being. He couldn't remember what or even if he dreamed, but he also couldn't remember the last time he felt this rested. _'Must be the mountain air,'_ he reasoned.

He called Eames' to make sure she was awake, only to find that she was well ahead of him.

"Almost ready," she sounded like she had a mouthful of toothpaste, which was confirmed the next second when he heard her spit, he assumed, into the sink. "I'm starving and I _need_ coffee."

"Give me fifteen minutes." He would swear the sound he heard was Eames whining.

As he was sliding the knot of his tie in place, Bobby suddenly had the inspiration to surprise Denise with an early morning phone call, something he rarely did. Picking up his cell phone, he quickly dialed her number before he had a chance to analyze the reasons behind his decision and change his mind. _Longing? Guilt? Brownie points?_ He stuffed all those thoughts into a corner to be picked up and played with later.

Denise must have recognized his number on her caller ID and he smiled at the surprise in her 'Hello.' "Good morning, beautiful."

_"Well, good morning to you, too."_ She sounded happy and Bobby thought this was probably a good idea. _"Are you still in bed?"_ she asked suggestively.

"No," he heard a knock at the door and walked over to open it. "We're just heading out for breakfast."

No sooner had he turned the doorknob than Eames ducked around him and headed toward her side of the bed. _'Her side of the bed.' Now there's a thought…_ "I left my shoes here last night," she said, apparently not realizing that he was on the phone.

Bobby frowned and quickly covered the mouthpiece with his fingers. She turned toward him while holding one shoe in each hand, and immediately looked dismayed when she spotted the cell phone. "Denise?" she mouthed then grimaced when he nodded. "Sorry," she silently apologized.

_"Sounds like Alex is there now,"_ Denise's playfulness was gone. _"You go have breakfast. We'll talk later."_ For some reason, her final statement sounded ominous.

"With any luck we'll be back before dinner tonight. I'll, uh… I'll call you."

_"Have a good day, Bobby."_ She hung up before she even heard him say good-bye. He flipped the phone closed and stared at it, pondering the fact that he felt no regret over the exchange. That obviously hadn't gone well and yet, it didn't seem to bother him.

"Bobby… I am so sorry."

He looked up and saw Eames, shoes firmly in place on her feet, sitting on _her side of the bed_. Bobby shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Ready?"

"More than." She hopped up off the bed and hurried toward the door. "Coming?"

----------------------------------

Breakfast, coffee-to-go and an hour's worth of drive time saw them pulling into Camp Lohikan just outside the small village of Lake Como. The camp directors were also the owners and they lived on the premises year-round. In early May, preparations for this family-run summer camp were just beginning. Goren and Eames quickly found a hired hand who was able to point them in the direction of the lake where he'd last seen the owners.

"Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin?" Eames called out to the middle-aged couple they spotted at the edge of the lake, sparkling in the bright morning sun. Wearing flannel shirts, jeans and work boots, the pair were picking up debris and fallen branches, adding them to an already large pile to be hauled away from the shoreline.

"Yes?" Mr. Coughlin straightened with a bundle of branches cradled in one arm while his free hand swiped across his forehead to sweep hair and sweat from his eyes. Late-fifties or early-sixties, he had the look of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. His face already wore an early tan and he appeared quite fit for a man of his age.

"I'm Detective Eames, this is Detective Goren." Mr. Coughlin dropped the bundle from his arms and pulled off his work gloves to extend his hand in greeting. "We're with the New York City police."

"Pete Coughlin. This is my wife, Emily," he introduced the attractive redhead who had walked over to join him. "How can we help you?" They were both obviously curious about the presence of two detectives from New York.

"Can we… sit over here?" Goren gestured toward a picnic table just behind them.

Nodding, Mr. Coughlin extended a hand toward the table. They all walked over and sat down on the benches – Coughlins on one side of the table, Goren and Eames on the other.

"Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin…" Goren began. "How long have you owned the camp?"

"Always," Pete Coughlin answered. "My parents founded this camp in 1957."

With the knowledge that Pete Coughlin would be the most promising of the two to question, Goren gestured to him with his left hand. "And did you… work here? During summer camp sessions?"

Coughlin nodded. "Yes. Every year since I was twenty-one." His curiosity seemed to be heading toward concern.

"And do you keep records… of all your campers?"

"Yes." Coughlin looked from Goren to Eames and back again. "What's this about?" he demanded.

"Mr. Coughlin," Eames stepped in. "We're investigating two murders in New York. One of the victims attended summer camp here, twenty years ago."

Curiosity and concern sharply turned to confusion at this point. "I… I don't…" Coughlin stumbled over what to say.

"In speaking with the victim's parents, they mentioned an… incident they believe occurred. While their son was here for summer camp," Eames explained as tactfully as she could.

"We… rarely have any… problems," Pete Coughlin appeared dumbfounded. "What do they think happened?"

Bobby was content to let Eames take the lead on this line of questioning while he studied the Coughlins – particularly Pete Coughlin.

"They suspect some type of sexual abuse," she answered directly.

As he noted their reactions, Bobby saw that Mrs. Coughlin looked shocked, while Mr. Coughlin appeared angry. "Wha… nothing was ever proven," Pete Coughlin sputtered.

"You know about this," Goren stated firmly.

"Well… yes." _The beginnings of a confession?_ "But… the girl could never identify…"

Goren leaned into the table. "Wait… girl? What girl?" He startled the Coughlins with his sudden and intense interruption.

"The girl. The one who reported that she'd been attacked," Coughlin seemed bewildered by Goren's question. "She never identified who she thought did it."

"Was the attack reported?" Eames asked then frowned at Bobby. "We couldn't find any record of it."

"No… we…" Coughlin sighed. "It wasn't reported," he answered defensively. "Look. She couldn't identify any of the boys and there was no proof it had really happened."

"Boys." Eames was beginning to sound angry. "There was more than one involved?"

Pete Coughlin folded his hands on top of the table and studied them for a few moments. When he looked back up, the only emotion Bobby could see in his eyes was resignation.

"The girl reported that she'd been attacked by five boys… raped. We immediately called her mother. Once she got here, we lined up all the boys and asked Lisa… that was her name… to identify her attackers."

"You called her mother but not the police?" Eames was definitely angry now.

"If she could have identified just one boy who attacked her, we would have!" And Pete Coughlin was definitely on the defensive.

"And you never told any of the boys' parents what happened?" Goren asked calmly.

"No," Coughlin answered and turned to Goren, believing he'd found an ally. "We saw no reason to upset them. Look…" he spread his hands on the table in frustration. "Even her own mother didn't believe her."

Bobby looked at Eames, recognizing the firm set of her jaw and the flash in her eyes. "Do you have a file on all of this?"

"Yes," Coughlin replied quietly. "It's back at the office."

"We, uh… we need to see that file," Goren said with conviction, not allowing any room for argument.

--------------------------------------------------

"I can't believe they didn't say anything to the boy's parents!"

They were at least twenty-five miles away from the camp and on their way back to New York with a copy of Lisa Hahn's file. Eames was still fuming.

"Well… there was no proof," Goren countered. "And if Lisa Hahn was unable or too scared to identify her attackers…"

"Of course she was scared!" she argued. "Who does a line-up in front of the suspects?"

"I agree… the police should have been called," Bobby tried to calm her. "I'm not saying that what they did was right. But once that decision was made, I'm not sure what good it would have done to tell all the parents."

"All this time, the Pirelli's thought their son had been molested, " Eames mused angrily, "when it turns out that he may be one of a number of boys who committed gang rape."

Bobby nodded absently while staring out the passenger window. The whole situation was poorly handled, most notably by not involving the police. But the higher tragedy was that the girl's own mother didn't believe her. Ultimately, it was her responsibility to press charges and seek the truth on behalf of her daughter.

"We need to find Lisa Hahn." Bobby turned to look at Eames. "And we need to talk with Sarah Moreno… alone."

_TBC…_

A/N - My apologies to ALL camp directors and counselors everywhere! Never having gone to summer camp, I don't really know how this situation would have been handled, but I would have to believe that police would have been involved. Thankfully, this is all just a work of fiction.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – **Vengeance**

They were still about half an hour outside Manhattan, and Alex was dearly looking forward to getting home. The promise of a hot shower, comfortable clothes, a glass of wine, and her couch became more alluring the closer they got to the City.

Bobby had tried calling Denise a couple of times, leaving a message once but hanging up the second time he rolled to voice mail. In between those calls, he contacted the office and asked them to check the whereabouts of the Morenos. If they were still in New York, he wanted to schedule a meeting with them sometime Friday afternoon. The return phone call confirmed the family was still in the City awaiting the release of Thomas' body so they could take him home to North Carolina. A meeting was set for 2:00 the next day at One PP.

After that, the ride was mostly silent, with both detectives' thoughts drifting in their own directions.

"Where do you want me to drop you?" Alex finally spoke up, needing to make a decision on where to cross over to Manhattan.

"Home."

"You sure?" Denise's apartment would be a longer drive, and she hoped that was the only reason for his decision. _Really? 'Cuz I thought there was some other wishful thinking going on here._ One day she really was going to have a talk with that smartass little voice of hers. "I don't mind taking you to Denise's."

"I'm sure," he answered absently.

Alex shrugged and headed for the tunnel instead of the bridge.

"Eames…" Bobby shifted his position so he was facing her. "I, uh… I want to ask you something…"

She glanced over at him, wondering about the hesitancy in his voice.

"But if you don't want to answer, just… just say so."

Looking back at the road, she mentally ran through some ideas of what he could possibly want to ask her. _What can I say to Denise to make her understand? What type of flowers best say 'I'm sorry'? Why don't you just sleep at my place again tonight? _And where the hell did that last one come from?

Curiosity prompted her answer. "Okay." Several seconds passed before he spoke, and she was about to snap her fingers in front of his face when…

"That night… with your father's friend…"

Not at all what she was expecting. Alex felt her heart begin to beat just a little faster. _Okay… maybe I should tell him to back off right now._

"Was it… fear? That your parents might not believe you?" His question was asked gently – his voice tapering off to little more than a soothing rumble. "Is that why you never said anything?"

_Damn it, Bobby! The memories have been swirling enough during this case. Do you really need to know all this?_

But honestly, Alex knew – Bobby wasn't idly asking these questions. When it came to how his mind solved puzzles, understanding the victims was as important to him as the uncanny trait he had for getting into the minds of criminals. He was asking because this would help.

"Partly." Alex kept her eyes determinedly fixed on the road. "I _was_ afraid my mom and dad wouldn't believe me." She gave it some more thought, wanting to better explain why she had that fear. "At twelve, you're never sure what might get you in trouble. And back then, I had a tendency toward practical jokes."

"Back then?" Alex heard the humor in his voice and relaxed just a little.

"Yes, back then!" She decided to go along with the teasing, thankful to him for easing the tension. "Damn, Goren. One prank phone call and you're never going to let me live it down, are you?"

"Not until I get even."

"You don't want to do that," she said, relying on the threatening tone she used during interrogations.

"I don't?" Without even looking at him, Alex knew the expression he wore – one eyebrow cocked with a small, smug curl to his lips. _Charming, but nonetheless fun to erase._

"Payback would be swift and painful." She heard his chuff of amusement and smiled herself. The unexpected teasing allowed her to relax further into her memories…

"You said 'partly'…"

…because she knew he wasn't done yet.

"What else kept you from telling your parents?"

"Anyone ever tell you, you ask too many questions?" She allowed herself the space of a breath to lock her gaze with his. Bobby's mouth smiled encouragement, while his eyes were dark with concern.

Alex took a deep breath and willed herself to get through this as honestly as she could. "I told you that… I loved Danny McKinnon like a second father. That night didn't really change that. Afterward, I felt more anger than hatred. And anger can't be sustained indefinitely." She glanced at Bobby and saw a frown on his face. "I thought about telling them… at least my mom. But, a part of me felt that I would be betraying him." Another glance told her his frown had turned into a scowl. "I know, it sounds silly." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her partner shake his head, but he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"And then there was the guilt." Bobby again changed position to more directly face her, and she could almost feel how intently he awaited her next words. "I thought I had done something wrong," she said softly. "Something that made him do it."

Bobby blew out a breath. "Jesus, Eames."

Interpreting his reaction as disappointment in her, Alex felt a pang of hurt. "Pretty egotistical for a twelve-year-old, huh?" she tried a joke to lessen the sting.

"No, that's not…" Bobby ran a hand through his hair and turned to stare out the front windshield. She looked over at her partner and was surprised by what she saw – jaw clenched and hand rubbing the back of his neck, he looked agitated.

With his above-average height and large frame, Alex knew Bobby had space issues. He now shifted restlessly within the confines of the SUV and she could almost hear his mind grumbling about the lack of opportunity to nervously pace. Settling himself in a new position, Bobby cleared his throat, turned back to her, and lightly placed a hand on her forearm. "I've always known that you're a strong woman, Eames." His voice trembled slightly with emotion, and he paused a moment before continuing. "Now I know… you were also a… a strong young girl."

A lump formed in her throat and Alex felt a sudden stinging at the corners of her eyes. Cursing her trademark smart aleck little voice for failing her when she needed it most, Alex could only clench the steering wheel and stare straight ahead, steeling herself not to wimp out and cry in front of her partner. Bobby gently squeezed her arm before removing his hand and resettling himself in his seat.

The remainder of the drive to Bobby's place was once again silent.

_TBC…_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – **Vengeance**

Alex awoke Friday morning feeling anxious and tired. Instead of the deep sleep she'd anticipated following her hot shower and glass of wine, she had tossed and turned fitfully throughout the night. Brief interludes of sleep had been peppered with frenetic dreams that now fractured into meaningless bits, even as she struggled to make them form a cohesive whole. Danny McKinnon, Bobby, Eric – all morphed and merged in scenes she could no longer recall.

Of one thing, she was certain. Each time her mind touched on Bobby, she calmed. Her anxiety dissipated and she was able to smile at her foolishness. _He must have been the good guy in all that chaos_, she thought.

And Eric must have been one of the bad guys.

She hadn't mentioned anything to Bobby, but that night at the hotel in the Poconos, she had purposely left her cell phone in her room before joining him for a couple of beers. Eric had been trying to call her all day and she'd let him roll to voice mail, telling Bobby it was her sister and she'd call her later. When she finally listened to Eric's messages, each one progressed further through various stages of an apology. But Alex had no intention of returning his calls. She had said everything she needed to say that day at the office when he had, basically, given her an ultimatum: _'Him or me.'_ Did he really think she would choose him over her job, or her partner?

When she arrived home from Pennsylvania, she had a final message from Eric on her answering machine, telling her exactly what she could do with Bobby Goren. _Interesting suggestion, actually._ Ironically, it would be counterproductive to what he'd tried to achieve with all his other messages.

Still feeling tired and a bit cranky, Alex arrived at the office with an extra-large, extra-strong Starbucks in hand. Bobby took one look at her expression and the oversized cup, said a quick 'Good morning' and then quickly ducked his head back to reading whatever he had on his desk.

"What is that?" she asked as she hung her jacket over the back of her chair before sitting and rolling into place at her desk.

"The file on Moreno," Bobby replied to the papers.

"What are you looking for?" Alex pressed.

He finally looked back up at her with his chin propped on his hand. "Just trying to get familiar with the family dynamics. They're due here at 2:00."

Sipping her coffee, Alex considered him and realized that her thoughts on his strategy may be totally wrong. "What do you have in mind, Bobby?"

Lacing his fingers together and clasping his hands in front of him on the desk, Bobby leaned in a little closer and spoke in a low voice. "Mr. and Mrs. Moreno were both working parents as their children were growing up. The older sister, Melissa, is thirty-six. Thomas was twenty-nine, and Sarah is twenty-four."

Alex held her coffee in one hand and absently rubbed her thumb over a callus on her finger as she listened to her partner. "Large age range," she noted.

Bobby nodded. "My guess is that Melissa would have wound up with the bulk of the after school child care for Thomas and Sarah, maybe even having to watch them in the evenings."

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "My oldest brother got stuck with that, and he tended to resent it."

"Exactly. Resentment could lead to… indifference. If she didn't care one way or the other, she may have left the two younger children unattended more than she should have."

Alex's nervous hand stilled and she lowered her coffee cup to the desk. He was watching her, knowing that she understood what he hadn't yet said. "You're thinking Sarah was Thomas' victim." Her voice held a note of unease. "Where are you getting this from?"

"The Morenos themselves," Bobby replied confidently as he began pulling papers and notes from the file in front of him. "During our first interview, I thought the parents' anger was… extreme. And then there was Melissa who… who looked bored more than anything." He was still sifting through papers, determined to find whatever he was looking for. "But Sarah," he triumphantly help up a piece of paper with his left-handed scrawl covering most of the page. "Sarah was intent on everything we had to say about Thomas, right up until we mentioned a possible tie to harming children. Then she looked away. She… hid behind her fall of hair and began nibbling on a fingernail. She avoided making eye contact the rest of the interview."

Bobby closed the file, placed his piece of paper on top of it, and began to read. "Question. _When was the last time any of you heard from Thomas?_ Answer from Mrs. Moreno. _Last Wednesday. He called for Sarah, but she wasn't home._ Question: _Sarah, do you know if Thomas called for a particular reason?_ Answer from Mrs. Moreno: _Thomas and Sarah were very close. He was the one who comforted her when she had nightmares_."

He looked back up at Alex. "Mrs. Moreno was defensive when she answered that last question. And she rarely let Sarah answer questions for herself."

"You think Mrs. Moreno knew."

"I think Mrs. Moreno suspected," Bobby slipped the paper back into the folder then slapped it shut with the flat of his hand. "And did nothing."

Alex rubbed at her forehead in frustration. A mother who knew and did nothing, Mrs. Moreno was apparently still trying to protect her son. "We'd never be able to prove it," she looked at Bobby. "Not unless Sarah talks to us."

"I've been thinking about that." She should have known he'd have an idea. "We'll want to be sure to tell the Morenos that we need to meet with each of them individually. Maybe start with the parents to set it up. Ask them general questions so they're not suspicious when we meet with Sarah."

"Bobby, if this is true… " Alex began, needing to know more about their ultimate purpose, "are you then saying that Sarah had something to do with Thomas' death?"

Bobby rocked a little in his chair, giving some thought to her question before answering her. "I think the abuse victims are involved in the deaths."

_Vengeance. Justice._ Alex didn't know what to think anymore. She had liked what she'd seen of Sarah – petite, pretty if not beautiful, quiet, intense. If she was involved in the death of her brother, Alex thought perhaps it would have taken prolonged abuse to drive her to that point.

"Eames." Bobby's soft voice brought her out of her reverie and she focused once again on her partner. "I, uh… I think we should split up for these interviews. Do them one-on-one."

Alex frowned at him. That wasn't the way they typically worked. Interviews were conducted in tandem, with one partner picking up the threads of the other's line of questioning. They worked well together and she saw no need to break from their usual routine.

Bobby once again leaned in close over the desks. His eyes held hers in an intense gaze and Alex's earlier anxiety gripped her. Something wasn't right.

"I think…" He licked his lips and started over. "I think you need to be the one to question Sarah. Alone."

She tipped back in her chair and watched her partner watching her. Alex knew what he was trying to say – she'd seen him do it time and again in interviews. He wanted her to expose her vulnerability to Sarah. Bobby was asking her to empathize with Sarah and let her know just how well she understood her pain – and why. He wanted her to publicly expose something she'd never told anyone until four days ago.

Alex swallowed convulsively. She saw in Bobby's eyes that it cost him to ask this of her, and she knew he would accept whatever she decided. But if Bobby could do it… How many times had she stopped and wondered at the weaknesses he revealed for the sake of a confession? How much had she learned of his troubled childhood and the pain he'd endured because he'd been willing to offer that up in front of her… their captain… the DA? Had she, or anyone else for that matter, ever thought less of him because of it? _No!_

She nodded and saw the flicker of concern cross his features. "I'll do it," she said softly.

Judging by Bobby's expression, he wasn't sure this was what he really wanted. "Do you want to do this without Deakins and Carver present?" he asked gently.

Alex thought about it. It was a well-meaning offer from someone who obviously cared and worried about her. But she couldn't accept. "No," she gave him a small smile of reassurance. "I can't ask Sarah to open up and talk if I'm not willing to do it myself."

Bobby leaned back in his chair with a shine of admiration in his eyes. And Alex felt a pleasant warmth in the knowledge that his admiration was for her.

_TBC…_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – **Vengeance**

_Maybe this isn't such a good idea._

_What if this is the wrong approach for this interrogation? What if Sarah's not a victim? What if all this turns out to be unnecessary?_

_It's not too late to change your mind._

Along with the swirling doubts came a jumpy stomach and nervous hands, effectively stilled by the act of crossed arms with fingers tucked between biceps and body. Deakins and Carver had been mildly surprised by the choice of interview tactics, but ultimately they trusted the detectives' instincts. Knowledge that the captain and DA were present increased the uncertainty and multiplied the anxiety factor tenfold.

_What if you're wrong?_

Goren stood in the observation room watching Eames chat-up Sarah Moreno, putting her at ease with her surroundings and the process of a police interview. Experience told him that the turn from interview to interrogation was coming soon and that's when Eames' questions would become more probing, more personal.

"So, you and your brother were close?" Eames' voice was clear, if a bit tinny, coming through the speaker.

"Yes. Melissa was so much older," and Sarah's voice was finally losing its nervous tremble.

_It's not too late to go in there and stop this._

-------------------------------------------------------

"That kind of left Tommy and me to each other."

Alex hummed agreement. "I know what you mean. My older brother and I are only two years apart. I always wanted to hang around with him and his friends. He was okay with it when we were kids, but it got to the point where he thought I was just his pesky little sister. Did that happen with you and Tommy?"

"Sort of, I guess… when we were teenagers," Sarah shrugged. "But we were still very close."

"That's nice." Alex smiled and switched to a sympathetic tone. "It must have been hard for you when he went off to college. I mean, I know what it's like to have a big brother… someone to look out for you." And then she emitted a short, derisive laugh. "Although, mine seemed to think it was okay if he was the one who tormented me."

Sarah's smile quavered and caution gleaned in the corners of her eyes.

"Your mom said Tommy was the one who comforted you when you had nightmares," Alex gently reminded her. "Was that a problem for you… after he left?"

"No… I…" Sarah squirmed and stumbled over her reply. "I was older… I didn't need someone…"

"Your parents didn't take over? Come to your room when you had nightmares?" Alex couldn't let her off the hook. If this was going somewhere, now was the time.

"Their bedroom was downstairs. Ours were up," Sarah's voice tapered off to little more than a whisper. "They didn't know."

Alex hesitated as she felt her heart slam hard against the wall of her chest. _Can I really push her into this corner? And can I follow? _"Then how did your mom know that Tommy comforted you when you had nightmares?"

Sarah's eyes widened in shocked realization of what she'd unintentionally revealed. Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes and looked to where her hands were clasped in her lap. "She, um…" she swallowed deeply and kept her gaze averted, "she saw Tommy coming out of my room once."

"And that's what he told her? That you'd had a nightmare?"

"Yes." Alex barely heard her admission.

In a move she hadn't even realized she'd picked up from Goren, Alex leaned over the table and dipped her head to catch Sarah's eye. "Is that what happened?" she asked softly.

Without lifting her chin, Sarah looked at her with moist eyes. Her lower lip trembled before she caught it between her teeth and bit down, probably harder than necessary.

"Was Tommy there for another reason?" When Sarah offered no answer and the silence in the room became oppressive to Alex, she tried to press further. "Sarah…"

"No! I don't want to talk about this!"

Alex stood up from the table and walked around to take the chair next to the other woman. "Sarah," sliding her chair closer, Alex reached over to gently clasp Sarah's forearm. "Did Tommy hurt you? Force you to do something you didn't want to do?"

Sarah's eyes were now watery and as Alex watched, one tear slipped from a corner and trailed along her cheek. When Sarah closed her eyes, more tears slid unchecked in quiet paths to her chin.

"I know…" Alex began but choked as her own voice trembled. It occurred to her that by changing positions in the room, she was now vulnerable to the watchful eyes of Deakins and Carver – and her partner.

But she was now past the point of no return. Sarah was ready to talk, and Alex alone had the opportunity to encourage her to share her pain.

"I know what it's like… to have someone you love, someone you trust… hurt you," she confessed softly. "And I know what it's like to have them lie, and tell you that it's not wrong."

Despite the stinging behind her eyes, Alex resolutely refused to cry. But she couldn't completely check her emotions. Sarah's eyes searched her, intent on determining if Alex was someone she could trust – and Alex laid herself open. Whatever Sarah saw must have confirmed the truth of Alex's words because finally, she took a deep, shaky breath and resigned herself to what was about to be shared.

"What… happened to you?" Sarah asked around a hiccup of tears.

"A friend of my father's," and Alex cursed the fact that her voice wavered, if for no other reason than the audience on the other side of the two-way glass. "Someone I knew my whole life took advantage of my trust in him." It was an effort on her part, but Alex's voice strengthened.

"How old were you? When it first happened?"

"Twelve."

Sarah nodded. "I was eleven… the first time," her tears slowed and Sarah wiped her cheeks with both hands. "He came into my room… one night. He didn't do… everything. Not then. But later… and for three years before he left for college." Her bitterness was evident and Alex saw the first glimmers of anger emerge. "I couldn't sleep nights. I lay in bed, waiting. Wondering if tonight was a night he would come to my room. It was almost a relief when he did come because then… I didn't have to wait anymore. I knew when he'd leave, it would be over. For that night." Sarah swiped a hand through her shoulder-length hair and then looked at Alex with an eerily calm light in her eyes.

"You never told anyone?" Alex felt the hypocrisy of her question.

"Did you?" Sarah glared, her eyes accusatory.

Alex thought about it then shook her head. She'd only recently told Bobby. And, ultimately, she knew what Sarah was really asking. _Did you ever tell anyone when it happened? Did you ever tell anyone who could help?_

She'd gotten Sarah to confide in her and admit she was a victim. Now Alex had to use that confidence to find out if she was connected to her brother's murder. _How the hell does Bobby do this all the time?_

------------------------------------------

From the other side of the glass, Bobby stoically watched the interview. He grit his teeth and kept his face impassive while Eames unfurled her pain and revealed her dark memory, not only to Sarah, but to Deakins and Carver as well. His stomach roiled with anxiety as he watched his captain and the DA react, and guilt joined the wave when they both looked at him with the same question in their eyes. _'Did you know about this beforehand?'_

A quote came to mind that Bobby couldn't readily attribute: _"Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment; only there does its satisfaction lie.1"_

_Sometimes this job just fucking sucks…_

_TBC…_

1**Lawrence Durrell** (1912–90), British author. Justine, pt. 3 (1957).


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – **Vengeance**

_"You never told anyone?"_

_"Did you?"_

The exchange echoed in Alex's mind as Sarah Moreno gazed at her and said nothing. She seemed to be waiting for more than a mere shake of the head to confirm that Alex shared her choice of silence.

"No," Alex finally spoke. "I never told anyone."

Sarah cocked her head and considered Alex – studying her before asking, "What happened to you?"

A lump of panic rose in Alex's throat and her mind screamed against betraying her pain to this total stranger. _It's not what we do!_ Her inner voice rebelled and then reasoned, _Think about the men behind the glass._ And Alex thought about one man behind the glass. The knowledge that Bobby was there gave her the determination to tell her story. The memories of the many times her partner had sacrificed his soul and survived, gave her the strength to honestly allow her emotions and fear to bleed through. She did, however, grant one deception. Sarah seemed to assume that Alex's abuse was repeated, and the detective did nothing to alter that assumption.

By the time Alex finished, Sarah's eyes held a new acceptance. "You've never told anyone… why me?"

_Because Detective Robert O. Goren thought it would be a good idea, _she silently grumbled. "I think it's important that you know you're not alone," she instead answered.

"I know I'm not alone," Sarah stated very seriously. "Do you?"

The abrupt question caught Alex off guard and she knew her reaction betrayed her. She faltered as she tried to determine if the question was meaningful, or merely rhetorical. "What do you mean you're 'not alone'?" Alex decided to put the focus back on Sarah.

A knowing smile curled one corner of Sarah's lips – she recognized Alex's dodge but let her get away with it. "There are people who understand. People who know what we've been through." Sarah's voice was gaining confidence and she settled more comfortably into her chair. "There are people who believe that victims don't ask for their torment," she ended firmly.

"Someone thinks you asked for what happened to you?" Alex was surprised.

Sarah looked down at her hands and began twisting the small, gold pinky ring she wore. "My mother would."

Alex thought about it and decided Sarah was probably right. From what she'd seen of Mrs. Moreno, particularly during Bobby's earlier interview, she was fiercely protective of her son while seeming almost disinterested in either daughter. _The psychoanalytical part of Bobby's brain must be having a field day with this family's dynamics._

Judging by the bitterness in her words, the young woman believed her mother at least suspected what was happening. Alex could only imagine the impact that would have – knowing your mother was ignoring your abuse in deference to your older brother.

At that moment, she longed for the security of her partner by her side. Bobby, who could delve into the psychoses of people and intuitively ask the right questions – who could sympathize at the right moments and create camaraderie with a suspect. Alex was new to this game of exposing her vulnerabilities for the mere hope of forming a bond. She wanted to retreat toward her natural tendency of self-preservation and privacy. Instead, she forced herself to stay open to Sarah in an attempt to draw her out.

"So these people you met… they help?" She leaned closer to Sarah, lowered her voice, and hoped she sounded… needy.

"Yes, they help." Sarah's response included a sly smile. Before Alex could press for more information, Sarah looked back up and asked a question of her own. "You are alone, Detective… aren't you?"

Alex frowned and hesitated – drawing a breath and opening her mouth, but not immediately responding as she tried to determine exactly what Sarah was asking.

"You're not married," Sarah's eyes flicked to Alex's left hand. "And your job probably takes precedence over your personal life."

_Ahh… 'alone' in the sense of relationships. _"More than it should," she answered cautiously.

"I'll bet you find it hard to maintain long-term relationships with men." Sarah was warming to the topic and Alex believed that, although it was true for her, this was really more about the other woman. This was Sarah's struggle in life and she was projecting it onto Alex. "The one man in your life you've stayed with for any length of time is probably standing on the other side of that mirror."

It was the first time that either of them had acknowledged the two-way mirror and the likelihood that they were not alone – the reality that they were not keeping secrets in this small, gray room.

"He's handsome, but no substitute for what you really long for and can't have," she crossed her arms in front of her chest in a gesture meant to be challenging more than defensive. "Intimacy and commitment." Sarah sat there and dared her to deny it.

Alex looked away and nervously scratched her palm, stalling for a response as she quickly cast about in her mind for a plan to regain the offensive in this match. She looked back up at Sarah and spoke in a soft, tremulous voice. "How do you know all this?"

Sarah's posture and facial expression relaxed in sympathy as she leaned closer to Alex. "I couldn't sleep nights," she said softly, "even after all these years. I've never been able to have a normal relationship with a man because I… I can't stand the idea of sex," she blushed. "I've tried… really, I have! But I can't bear it. I've been too afraid." Sarah reached out a hand and gripped Alex's wrist. "But Isaiah helped me conquer my fear… and now I have a chance at a normal life." Releasing her grip on Alex, she sat back in her chair and raised her chin confidently. "I'm not afraid anymore."

"Isaiah." Alex seized on the name. "Who's Isaiah?

"No," Sarah shook her head. "You don't understand. It's not a person."

It took a moment, but then it dawned on her. "It's the name of the group? The one that helped you?"

Sarah nodded.

This was it – the intent of this entire interview. The bits and pieces that could be gleaned from Sarah Moreno. Alex knew from here on out any information she could get from Sarah would depend on the tenuous trust she'd built over the last half hour. "What did they do to help?"

"They eliminated my fear," Sarah smiled.

Alex shook her head and frowned. "Eliminated? How did they do that?"

"They made me realize that I'm strong," Sarah once again ran a hand through her straight hair, sweeping it away from her face. When Alex still looked confused, the other woman sighed and went on to explain. "The first step was to help with someone else's fear… so I could see how easy it is to overcome."

"What did you have to do?"

Sarah hesitated and Alex could see she was debating her answer. "Just… be there… for her sake."

_She's starting to be cautious and evasive. Back up a bit._ "It must have felt good to help someone else," Alex offered as a positive stroke. "Who were you able to help? A friend?"

After thinking about it for a moment, Sarah shrugged, apparently deciding there was no harm in answering. "Her name was Lisa."

_Lisa!_ Alex looked back down at her hands to cover her surprise. _Lisa Hahn? Could it be her? _She was excited. This could all fall into place if Alex could just play her cards right.

Forcing her expression and voice to be calm, Alex looked back at Sarah. "How did you find the group?" And almost immediately Alex knew that she' asked the wrong question. In her eagerness to end this interview, she'd pushed too soon. Sarah's eyes darted to the two-way mirror, then to a corner of the room – she refused to look directly at Alex.

"I, um… a friend told me about them," she answered evasively.

"A friend. Was it Lisa?" Even though Alex tried to sound conversational rather than curious, Sarah shrugged and didn't answer. The detective wanted to try one more tactic. "Your brother was the source of your fears." She again leaned in to Sarah, hoping the intimacy of the gesture would reassure her that Alex was still a confidant. "All these years, Sarah… all this time. Your brother was living hundreds of miles away from you. How did this group help you overcome your fears when nothing else could?'

And Sarah's expression turned stony.

------------------------------------------------------

"It's Lisa Hahn," Bobby stated. "It has to be."

Alex had joined Goren, Deakins and Carver in the observation room. They watched through the glass as a uniformed officer escorted Sarah from the other room so she and her family could return to their hotel. She had stubbornly refused to answer any more questions, and they had nothing to hold her on. As it stood now, Moreno's body wouldn't be released for two more days, and the family wouldn't be returning to North Carolina before then. There was still time.

"She helped plan the murder of Anthony Pirelli?" Alex found it hard to believe. Despite their verbal parrying of the last forty-five minutes, she generally liked Sarah Moreno and sympathized with her trauma. "It doesn't seem possible."

"I think she more than helped," Bobby said. "I think she was there." He was flipping through papers in his binder until he found what he was looking for. "The pool of vomit found at the scene of Pirelli's hanging… the content analysis showed no trace of… of meat, fish… eggs… dairy…"

Understanding hit Alex. "The last time the Moreno's were here… when they were leaving, they mentioned going to dinner. Sarah reminded them that she's vegan."

Bobby nodded. Deakins and Carver looked impressed by the tie in.

"Tell me there was DNA in that sample," Deakins said hopefully.

"There was saliva, and it was tested," Bobby answered

"But we have no evidence to compel Ms. Moreno to take a DNA test," Carver smoothly interjected.

"We have her brother's DNA," Alex countered.

Carver looked at her and smiled. "You get me a familial match between the sample and her brother… I'll get you a warrant to test Ms. Moreno."

"Order the comparison tests," Deakins said as he headed toward the door with Carver trailing after him. "And find out whatever you can about this Isaiah group." Deakins stopped at the open door and turned back to his detectives. "Whatever Sarah Moreno's involvement, you better figure it out soon. We're going to need that leverage if we expect her to tell us where to find these wackos."

Alex and Bobby both nodded agreement. The door swung closed and sealed them alone in the observation room.

Bobby turned to Alex and dipped his head to catch her gaze. "Are you all right?"

His simple question made her realize that she was, indeed, all right. And extremely relieved. Alex gave him a soft smile and nodded.

"Eames… I'm…" Bobby shoved one hand in a pants pocket and looked down to where he nervously shuffled his feet. In the moment it took for Alex to wonder at his discomfort, he stilled his movements and brought his eyes back up to hers. She never knew that chocolate brown could be so filled with admiration. "I know how hard that was for you. You were great."

Alex's eyes stung with sudden tears. "So, why do I feel like crying?" her words strained past the tightness in her throat.

"It's to be expected," he soothed gently. "Exposing yourself like that in an interrogation… it's very… emotional."

She took a deep, calming breath then blew it out past her lips. "You do it all the time," her voice regained some strength. "I've never seen you cry."

"Why do you think I spend so much time in the men's room?"

Alex grinned at his teasing, knowing it wasn't true and that he's said it for her benefit. But beyond his teasing words and smile, Alex felt the heaviness of Bobby's concern for her. She needed to get out of this room and breathe again. "God, I need a drink."

"Well… let's go," Bobby gestured toward the door with his chin.

_Oh, so tempting._ "Aghh… I wish we could…"

"Eames. The rest of this can wait until tomorrow." He reached out and gripped her elbow, giving it a light squeeze. "C'mon… I'm buying."

_TBC…_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 - **Vengeance**

Bobby had stopped at his desk and called down to Rodgers' office to order the comparison tests of the DNA found in the vomit at Pirelli's hanging against Thomas Moreno's. In the minute it took for him to do that, Eames had settled herself at her own desk and started working at her computer. He'd had to close her laptop and practically drag her up out of her chair to get her to leave with him. 'I mean it… everything else can wait until morning,' he'd repeated to her.

_Stubborn._

Now that they were settled into a booth at the pub-style bar around the corner from One PP, she seemed to finally relax a bit and Bobby saw some of the tension easing away from her features. He spotted the waitress and waved her over.

"Hey, Bobby." Sandy smiled at him. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was a bad sign that all the waitresses knew him by name in this bar. "Hi, Alex." But, then again, they knew a lot of the cops from One PP. "What can I get ya?"

Bobby was about to order Eames her gin and tonic, but she beat him to it.

"I'll have a Tanqueray martini, up, very dry with a twist."

He cocked an eyebrow at her but Eames' expression dared him to say something. Shrugging, he simply placed his own order with the waitress. "Scotch on the rocks… thanks."

When Sandy walked away, he glanced around the familiar bar. "Slow night," he commented.

"Yeah," he heard her soft response.

Bobby looked back at Eames. She was staring at her hands while rhythmically rubbing her right thumb back and forth over the area on her left ring finger where a wedding band had once warmed against her skin. It hit him that her interview with Sarah Moreno had been difficult for her on many levels.

"She's wrong about you, Eames," he said softly. Her eyes came up to meet his and he saw a sheen that tugged at his heart. "For the right man, you invest yourself."

"Really?" Her hands stilled. "Then I must be meeting an awful lot of the wrong men, or letting the right ones go."

Bobby cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "What are you saying? Are you having second thoughts a-about… Eric?"

She gave a small cry of scorn, followed by a crooked smile. "Hardly."

"Then what? Someone else? Some… relationship you regret letting go?"

Eames swallowed hard and nervously tucked her hair behind an ear. As she sat there in silence, he wondered if she was thinking about it or if she'd decided not to respond. Her sudden answer told him everything he needed to know.

"As far as that goes, the only regret I have is that Joe died too young."

Bobby nodded, appreciating how difficult that admission was for her. "So… Joe was the right man," he said gently. "You loved him. And when you're lucky enough to love again… you won't hold back." She looked skeptical. "It's not in you, Eames."

Sandy chose that moment to appear with their drinks. "Do you want to run a tab?" she asked.

He looked at Eames. She had already taken two good-sized sips of her martini. "Yeah… thanks, Sandy."

"So, is everything okay? With you and Denise?" And as Eames often did when the topic of discussion focused uncomfortably on her, she abruptly changed the subject.

_Fair play, I suppose,_ he thought. _If you don't want her digging into your personal relationships, don't dig into hers._ "We're… on the edge," he answered after giving it some thought. He'd called Denise the night before when he got back from the trip to Pennsylvania. Their discussion was strained, and she had begged off from seeing him, claiming a headache. He'd let it go at that and said he would call her over the weekend. It was just as well. The events of this week had left him feeling unsettled about the direction of their relationship.

"Is she the right woman for you?" Eames asked over the rim of her martini glass.

He narrowed his eyes. _You really like to play tit-for-tat, don't you?_ "I don't see myself marrying her, if that's what you're asking," he answered carefully, but he could see that she wasn't quite satisfied. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ He sighed and scratched a hand through his hair before looking back at Eames. "I care about her. I… I look forward to seeing her. We have a lot of fun together. But I don't see our relationship being more than what it is now."

"Does she know that?"

Bobby bristled at the implication. "I've never led her on, Eames. I've never given her a reason to expect anything more."

She set her glass on the table, clasped her hands in front of her, and leaned in closer to him. "That's not what I asked."

And he knew that was true. It was him, trying to avoid examining the reality of what was happening between him and Denise. "She wants more," he conceded.

"You need to tell her how you feel, Bobby," Eames reached across the table and briefly rested her hand on his. "It's cruel… letting her hope." She pulled her hand away, sat back and took another sip of her martini. "And you never know… she may be just fine with what you have."

Bobby shrugged and said nothing more, recognizing the opportunity to let the subject drop. He picked up his glass, glanced at Eames, and realized her drink was almost empty. "You might want to slow down on those," he said before taking another swallow of his own.

"Trust me… I don't."

"Did you even eat lunch today?"

Looking around the bar, Eames shook her head in response then pointed to her glass when she caught Sandy's eye.

"Then we better order food or I'll be pouring you into a cab later."

Eames surprised him with a slow, sexy smile. "That sounds like fun, actually," she purred.

He smiled indulgently at her, knowing how much she liked to flirt after a couple of drinks – just not usually with him. "I'll get you an extra order of fries."

-------------------------------------------

"What are you doing?" Alex asked as Bobby slid in beside her on the backseat.

He looked a bit surprised at her question. "I'm making sure you get home safely."

She crossed her arms in front of her and settled into the seat. "I know how t' take a cab," and she was pleased that she only barely stumbled over the two 't' words.

"I know," he argued agreeably. "But you've had a lot of straight alcohol tonight. I just…" He stopped and sighed when he saw the expression on her face. "Humor me, okay?"

And whenever he looked at her like that, she always let him have his way. "Always such a gen'leman, Bobby. Denise 's lucky," she smiled then leaned her head against his shoulder. If he was going to make the twenty-minute ride to her place, she might as well take advantage and be comfortable. Alex closed her eyes and could have sworn she felt his cheek rub against the top of her head.

She wasn't really sleeping when they arrived at her apartment, but she was surprised by how quickly the time had passed. As they got out of the cab, Bobby asked the driver to keep the meter running and wait. Sometimes it's easier to pay for the cab you already have than to flag down a new one.

Whatever buzz Alex was feeling had mellowed since they left the bar, and she had no problem climbing the stairs to her second-floor apartment. Bobby followed her and made sure she got to her door. He leaned against the doorframe while she dug through her purse for her keys and she held them up triumphantly. "See? Perfectly capable of getting in to my own apartment."

He smiled and stood up straight, waiting for her to open the door. Bobby was always so considerate – protective in a way that made her feel safe and cared for, not smothered. Alex felt a sudden wave of affection for her partner. Impulsively, she stepped toward him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her ear against his chest, listening to the reassuring steadiness of his heartbeat. After only a moment's hesitation, she felt his strong arms around her as he returned the hug.

"This is nice," she murmured, and felt his hum of agreement vibrate through his chest. "Can we just stay like this?"

"I'd like that," she heard the amusement in his voice, "but sooner or later, one of us will have to pee."

_Shit!_ "Ahh, dammit! Why'd you have to go and mention that?" Bobby chuckled and she pulled away, her hands remaining on his waist and his on her shoulders. Alex looked up at him and knew she didn't want him to go. She offered the first lame thing she could think of. "You can crash on my couch, you know. It is your turn." She saw hesitation in his eyes and felt his grip tighten on her shoulders.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Eames," he said softly and her heart sank.

With too many martinis in her, she'd managed to embarrass him and make a fool of herself. _You're such an idiot, Alex! _

"I'm likely to try something that… I wouldn't want written off to too much alcohol."

And the awkward beast she'd tried for so long to ignore roused from its corner. Its warm breath coiled through her heart, giving life to the seed she'd stubbornly refused to nurture. As it swelled within her, she saw its sentient existence reflected in Bobby's eyes. With this new life came flashes of memory. _Bobby's tender concern during her pregnancy. His solid presence at her bedside the day her nephew was born. His gentlemanly restraint the few times her teasing turned flirty. His ever-present dislike of any man she dated. His arms around her the two times they'd danced._

Alex searched and found the truth in Bobby's eyes. They were more than partners, more than friends. And he was determined to keep them less than lovers.

Her sigh was shaky and Bobby gave her a sad smile. As the moment passed, Alex stretched up to kiss his cheek, but at the last second she turned a bit further to catch the corner of his mouth. She felt his lips press back against her skin and they lingered a few moments, savoring the regret-filled kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

"Go on," Bobby's voice was husky. "Go inside."

She gave him a small smile and turned to unlock her front door.

"I want to hear your deadbolt lock before I leave."

Alex paused with her key in the lock and faced him. "Bobby. I live alone. I know how to lock my door."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving until I hear it."

This sigh was filled with playful exasperation. "It's a good thing you're not staying the night," she grumbled as she opened her door and stepped inside. "It's been a long time since anyone tried to remind me to brush my teeth and say my prayers before I go to bed."

His soft chuckle on the other side of the door warmed her as she turned the deadbolt with a snap. Alex closed her eyes and leaned against the cool wood, listening until she heard the last of his footsteps in the hallway.

---------------------------------------------------

Bobby settled into the cab and leaned his head against the back of the seat. Deliberately forcing away all thoughts of turning back, he focused instead on getting home and taking a hot shower. After that, he planned to change into sweats, pour himself a tall scotch and think about what he needed to say to Denise. It was going to be a long night.

_TBC…_

A/N - Ahhh, angst! It feels like a good, comfortable friend after the last few chapters :-) With regard to the mention of the '"...two times they'd danced," that comes from my (elfluvr's) story realm - _Dance_ and _Dance Redux_. For some reason, The Powers That Be refuse to show those scenes. And yeah, yeah… I know… 'vodka' martinis. If NBC had seen fit to share some of Eames with us before the sixth season, I wouldn't have had to make my version a gin drinker.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N - I just have to say that I am humbled by the awesome reviews and the number of readers who are sticking with this story. Thank you all!! I live for reviews, feedback and honest critiques - it all helps feed the beast and strengthen the writer :-)

-------------------------------------

Chapter 21 - **Vengeance**

Bobby made a point of stopping at the Starbucks near the office, fully believing that Eames would appreciate the extra caffeine this Saturday morning. While waiting in line to place his order, it occurred to him that what had started out as an occasional surprise for his deserving partner, was recently turning into a routine. More often than not, he found himself in this very same line, as proven by the young man behind the counter when he asked, 'The usual?' On impulse, Bobby chose something different and added two banana nut muffins to the order. His favorite, not hers - although Eames still seemed to eat a good portion whenever he had one.

Juggling two cups of coffee and a paper bag, Bobby used the knuckle of his pinky finger to press the elevator button. His rapid and uninterrupted rise to the eleventh floor was evidence that this was a quiet Saturday. As he stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner, he was surprised to see Eames already at her desk. Laptop open, she was intently leaning close to the screen reading something that had her full attention.

When Bobby managed to drop the bag of muffins on his desk without spilling hot coffee on his hands, Eames looked up at the sound.

"I see you already have coffee," he gestured with his chin toward the Styrofoam cup she had near to hand.

"Actually, this one's empty," Alex eagerly reached toward him. "Thanks," she smiled when he handed over the Cinnamon Dolce Latte he'd chosen as a treat. He watched her close her eyes and inhale the rich scent with an expression close to ecstasy. She hummed softly after her first sip, and Bobby's breath clogged in his throat when the tip of her tongue appeared to lick the sweetness from her lips. _Explains this new routine of yours, doesn't it?_ She opened her eyes and looked at him with a quizzical expression. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Stalling to be sure his voice didn't crack like some pubescent teenager, Bobby cleared his throat, rolled his chair away from his desk, and sat down before answering. "You came in early on a Saturday morning," he answered casually. "How long have you been here anyway?"

"Oh… awhile," Eames replied vaguely, already re-focusing her attention on her computer screen.

Bobby studied his partner. After what happened the previous night, he'd expected some awkward moments, but he wasn't sure if that was the reason for Eames' studious attention to her computer. Thinking back to their conversation at her door, he knew he should have left it at, '…don't think it's such a good idea.' But he'd heard the affection in her voice and seen the confusion in her eyes. When he'd brutally shoved temptation away and declined her offer, worry creased her brow and he could almost hear Eames chastising her impulsive self. Bobby just couldn't let her believe that she was alone in this tangle of confused yearnings. For although he could blame the scotch for loosening his tongue, he couldn't claim that it made him lie. "Are you okay?" he finally asked in a low voice.

"The pounding headache started to ease about half an hour ago," Eames answered while still reading her computer screen. "I'm good." And then she looked up and met his eye. If Bobby ever needed proof that she could read him better than anyone ever had, this was it. Her expression softened and she relaxed into a gentle smile. "Bobby… we're good, okay?" He smiled back with relief and gave her a quick nod of acceptance. "Now give me some of your muffin," she demanded as she held out her hand.

He smugly removed one muffin then passed the other to Eames. She peeked into the bag and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I wanted more than half a muffin this morning," he muttered with false annoyance, which did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm as she broke off a piece of banana nut sweetness and popped it into her mouth with a grin.

"So what has your attention?" he pointed toward her computer with his muffin in hand before taking a large bite.

"I did a search on 'Isaiah.' You wouldn't believe how popular that name is," she grumbled as she clicked her mouse with one hand and fed herself pieces of muffin with the other.

"Isaiah…" Bobby's interest was piqued. "It means… 'salvation of God.' In the Bible, chapters of the Book of Isaiah are… are devoted to vengeance and salvation."

Eames placed her coffee cup on her desk, rubbed her hands together to remove muffin crumbs and started typing, apparently refining her previous search parameters. Propping one elbow on her desk, she began rubbing her thumb absently over her index fingernail while she scanned through her new list. "Here we go," she said as she reached for her mouse. Bobby got up, walked around to her side of the desks, and snagged an empty chair.

On Eames' computer screen, he saw a black background and the word 'Isaiah' in elegant white script centered at the top as a headline. Delicate, translucent graphics suggesting avenging seraphims randomly adorned the page. At the bottom of the screen were more words in a smaller font of the same white script:

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In the very center of the screen was a quote:

_Isaiah 47:3 – "Your nakedness will be exposed and your shame uncovered.  
I will take vengeance; I will spare no one."_

"Click here," Bobby pointed to 'Our Mission.'

_We seek to rebalance spiritual and material realms  
through the elimination of fear and strengthening of the meek,  
for they will surely inherit power and punishment over all._

They looked at one another and Bobby thought that Eames' expression probably mirrored his own – a mixture of unease and triumph. "So it _is_ a religious crusade," Eames commented softly.

"Yeah… well… it's a perverted crusade, and that mission statement is just a bunch of gobbledygook," Bobby replied as he stood up and walked back around to his desk. "Their interpretation of Isaiah 47:3 is from a… a more contemporary version of the Bible. Probably the New International." He opened his bottom drawer and took out the well-worn, black leather book that often served as a reference for him. "In the King James Version…" he fanned the pages with his thumb to the approximate location of Isaiah, opened the book fully, then quickly flipped through with his fingers until he found the chapter and verse he sought.

_"Thy nakedness shall be uncovered, yea, thy shame shall be seen: I will take vengeance, and I will not meet thee as a man_," he read aloud. "The words are… less provocative. Less likely to… to incite violence." Bobby was feeling the familiar buzz he got when understanding began to take hold. It was like a double-shot of espresso hit his veins and his mind started thinking faster than the words could come out of his mouth. He was beginning to _feel_ where these people lived.

"The whole thing is crap anyway," he dropped his Bible on his desk. "The quote i-is taken out of context. It's used for their purposes," he angrily gestured toward her computer screen, "just like they used Vetruvian Man an-and related references to… spiritual and material realms."

He sank into his chair, leaned back to stare at the ceiling tiles, and rhythmically rubbed a hand across his mouth as he thought it through, snapping puzzle pieces into place while still left with an open void. Swiveling around to face Eames, he continued thinking out loud. "They're taking bits and pieces… enough to suggest a spirituality. A… a justification for their actions. But all they're really doing is dealing out their own form of punishment."

Eames nodded agreement and understanding. "Someone in this group, probably the founder, was a victim of abuse," she closed the circle for him. "Maybe they all are."

Bobby smiled at her with renewed appreciation. "To them… these murders are the path to their own salvation."

"You have to be registered to get into the chat or message boards," Eames' attention was back on her computer screen. "I'd better do that from the cybercafé up the street."

"Perfect excuse for more coffee." The look on her face told him that if she were twenty years younger, she wouldn't hesitate to stick out her tongue. Bobby started gathering papers and notes to put in his binder, preparing to join her on the walk to the café, when Eames' phone rang.

"Major Case. Eames." He heard an odd, strangled sound from the other side of the desks and looked up. Eames' face had visibly blanched and when she met his gaze, her eyes were dark with emotion. Bobby felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest as he wondered what could possibly have her so upset. "Where?" her voice trembled over the word. "We'll be there," she said quietly before hanging up the phone. "Sarah Moreno is dead."

_TBC…_


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 – **Vengeance**

The elevator doors opened onto the fifth floor hallway of the Carlton on Madison Avenue. A tastefully elegant hotel, it was a reminder that whatever problems plagued the Morenos, money wasn't one of them.

If the detectives hadn't already known the room number, it wouldn't have mattered. As if the flurry of activity weren't enough to direct their steps, Mrs. Moreno's plaintive voice and grief-filled sobs could be heard above the din of multiple conversations and terse instructions. "I should have… known," her words broke on a gasp. "My poor Sarah." Alex and Bobby approached the cluster of police and CSU personnel clogging the hallway outside Room 523. They spotted Mrs. Moreno slumped against her husband as he led her away from the pressing crowd.

Alex's steps slowed and she hung back, letting Bobby take the lead while she inhaled a deep, calming breath before crossing the threshold. The last thing she heard before entering the room was a mother's mournful cry. "She and Tommy were so close… she couldn't live without him."

As she and her partner stepped from lushly carpeted bedroom into marble-floored bathroom, an old adage sprang to Alex's mind.

_Blood is thicker than water._

That might explain why fifty gallons of lavender-scented bath water couldn't alter the distinctive sanguine or mask the metallic stench of ten pints of human blood.

Sarah Moreno's life-ending ritual was purposeful.

Bobby removed his jacket and handed it to the nearest CSU tech. Rolling up his shirtsleeve, he immersed a gloved hand into the thickly stained water to expose the evidence that Sarah had not simply slit her wrist. The pale underside of her arm had been parted by the thin slice of a single-edged razor, the length of her vein opened from wrist to elbow. Warm water would have eased the blade's sting and hastened the flow of thicker fluid.

All things considered, she had chosen a fairly tidy manner for her death, contained as it was within thirty cubic feet of easy-to-clean white porcelain.

_How considerate of her._

While Goren got up close with Sarah's corpse, Alex's gaze took in the smaller nuances of the setting.

"This has… all the outward appearance of a… a suicide."

_The razor blade looks so shiny against the dull beige of the marble floor._

"There's no… petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes…"

_There's an empty wine bottle by the tub, and an equally empty wine glass beside it._

"No visible bruises on her neck or arms."

_She used a towel as a pillow behind her neck. She wanted to be comfortable._

"No… obvious signs of defense…"

_She looks so young with her hair pulled up in a ponytail._

"Unless she was drugged or… or passed out, it doesn't appear that she was attacked."

"Damn!" Both detectives turned in surprise at Elizabeth Rogers' outburst, unaware that she had arrived on the scene. "Sorry," she muttered. "I see enough murders. Why do people have to go and do it to themselves?" Not really expecting an answer, Rodgers stepped close to the tub and looked down where Goren still crouched near the body. "Do you mind, detective?"

"Oh, sorry." Bobby stood up and reached for his jacket with his clean hand. Tossing it over his forearm, he pulled off the soiled glove on his opposite hand then rolled his shirtsleeve back in place.

"Bobby, you have blood on your cuff," Alex spotted it before he slid his arms into his jacket.

By the shake of his head and the look on his face, Alex could clearly hear his curse, even though no words were spoken. He draped his jacket back over his arm. "Let's finish up here. If you don't mind, we'll stop at my place on the way back to the office."

"Fine by me."

----------------------------------------

Alex aimlessly glanced at book titles and objects on Bobby's living room shelves while he left the room to change shirts. The distraction wasn't enough to erase the gory image of Sarah Moreno lying in bloodstained water. Almost more disturbing than that was the memory of her peaceful expression as she lay there looking for all the world like she'd simply fallen asleep in a red pool. Sarah had lived a tortured life – one which Alex had mercilessly encouraged her to revisit yesterday. She still hadn't quite figured out how to feel about her contribution to Sarah's final, hopeless hours and was glad for the diversion to Bobby's apartment before heading back to One PP.

Looking up at the next level of shelves, something new caught her eye and she reached to pick up the sculpture. Hand-made with a raku finish, its form suggested two birds lifting into flight, although it wasn't a realistic representation of birds. Having heard about the unpredictable properties of raku, Alex had to wonder how many times the artist had to re-sculpt and fire this concept to achieve the almost perfect play of colors on such an abstract representation of nature. Its weight and form felt good in the palm. Art that was meant to be enjoyed both visually and tactilely. Perfect for Bobby.

She was still holding the sculpture and contemplating its uplifting promise when she heard Bobby step back into the living room. Turning, she saw that he was buttoning his cuffs, although the collar of his shirt was still open. His tie was draped around his neck and Alex wondered what he would do if she offered to tie that strip of silk for him. Quickly aghast that her thoughts of him were once again turning too personal, Alex shook that idea out of her head and dismissed it as a fanciful whim.

"This is nice," she looked down at the object she held, hoping her eyes hadn't revealed the direction of her thoughts. "Where did you find it?"

There was a pause of silence, but Alex refused to look at Bobby. "At an art fair in TriBeCa," he finally answered. "Denise and I went a couple weekends ago."

"Did she pick it out?" she carefully positioned the sculpture back in its place.

"No," Bobby's voice was close behind her now. "She was more interested in the jewelry artisans."

Alex nervously crossed her arms over her chest and merely nodded, still unwilling to look at him. When he spoke again, she realized he'd seen more in her eyes than she thought she'd revealed.

"Sarah's death isn't your fault," he said gently.

_Christ, how does he do that?_

Her eyes welled up and Alex stubbornly clenched her jaw, refusing to give in to the swirl of emotions she couldn't even begin to identify. "The interview went bad," and she hated that her voice trembled. "She wasn't ready to talk…"

"The interview was fine," Bobby gripped her shoulders. Alex feared he intended to turn her and force her to look at him. She didn't think her tears would survive that. But in the end, all he did was gently massage her shoulders, using his thumbs to rub the base of her neck and soothe the tension she finally realized she was carrying. "Sarah Moreno was filled with pain and anger. She… grew up with… with shame and fear. She willingly added guilt to the mix – her choice." _Hmm. Funny how Bobby's touch and Bobby's voice could make it all seem a little better._ "It's not your fault."

Calmed, with the threatening lump in her throat dispelled by her partner's words, Alex took a step away from his hands and turned to face him. "What you didn't tell me, Bobby, is that by opening myself to her, I'd be letting her in. I liked Sarah. I wanted to help her. I hoped she was innocent." Alex unwrapped her arms from her defensive posture and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. "Please don't ever ask me to do that again."

_TBC…_

A/N – In my (elfluvr's) story "Hope," I mention a favorite sculpture of Alex's… here it is :-)


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 – **Vengeance**

"I'll call you back."

Jimmy Deakins abruptly hung up the phone when he spotted his detectives entering the squad room. Goren may be a top profiler, but Jimmy was no slouch when it came to reading people and interpreting body language. Something wasn't right.

Normally engaged in conversation about their latest case or passing time with friendly, teasing banter, Eames and Goren mutely strode to their desks, separated by at least ten feet of air space. Her expression was stony, while Goren's brow was furrowed with concern as he stole furtive glances at his partner.

Definitely not normal for these two.

Unfortunately, the captain thought he knew the source of their strain. When he'd heard about the Moreno girl, one of Jimmy's first concerns was that Eames would blame herself. Goren, with his protective tendencies toward his partner, would want to reassure her and shield her from that self-punishment. She could be stubborn and he was nothing if not persistent. It was amazing that these two didn't explode more often.

But what really had Jimmy curious was whether or not Alex blamed Bobby at all – and whether or not she should.

Times like this, the allure of management escaped him and Jimmy wondered what the hell he was thinking when he accepted the position of captain. The demands of managing more than twenty different combinations of personalities were sometimes enough to boggle the mind and exhaust the soul. Wearily he rose from his desk, but in the few steps it took for him to reach his doorway, he strengthened his spine and wrapped his voice in authority. "Eames. Goren. My office."

By the time Goren shuffled in behind Eames' more confident stride, Jimmy was once again seated at his desk, lips pursed and hands clasped in front of him. "Close the door." Goren complied and Eames stepped further into the office before leaning her hip against the credenza along the wall opposite the captain's desk.

"I heard about Sarah Moreno," he dove right in. Both detectives' eyes dropped to the floor. "What did the parents have to say?"

Silence answered him before Goren finally cleared his throat and spoke up. "We, uh… we tried talking to them…"

"Mrs. Moreno had to be sedated," Eames bluntly stated when her partner hesitated.

Goren nodded. "And Mr. Moreno refused to talk with us."

"Are they blaming the Department?"

"They have no reason to," Goren visibly bristled.

"They may see it differently," Jimmy countered sharply. The last thing he wanted was for Goren to get defensive. He wasn't the one he was worried about right now. Jimmy wanted to hear what Alex had to say.

"We don't know, Captain," Eames intervened. "Sarah didn't leave a note and until we can talk with her parents, there's no way to know if they're blaming anyone."

"Well… if they want to blame someone," Goren was having a hard time containing his temper, "they should begin by looking at themselves."

This wasn't going to work. He needed Alex in here by herself – away from Goren's guard dog instincts.

"Look. We've got the girl's interview," Jimmy reasoned, looking from one detective to the other. "And if the DNA testing proves she was at the scene of Pirelli's murder, then the Department's got nothing to worry about."

Goren's posture slumped with relief at the captain's confident statement and he expectantly looked toward his partner. Although Eames seemed to be trying for an impassive expression, her clenched jaw betrayed her stubborn disagreement.

"I need to return a call to the Chief of D's. I want an update at the end of the day," he effectively dismissed his detectives.

"Yes, sir," Goren mumbled as he opened the office door.

"Alex," Jimmy said. "Hang back a minute." Goren's worried hesitation was expected, and Jimmy gave him a pointed look. Flashing a disgruntled scowl, the detective reluctantly walked away. "Have a seat."

Alex glanced longingly toward Goren's retreating back before stepping forward to sit on the edge of a chair in front of the desk. _She may be upset with him, but she obviously preferred having him in the room to shield her._ It occurred to Jimmy that she might think this was about her revelation of her own experience with abuse. Hard as that had been for him to hear, he was more than willing to skirt that topic and leave it to Alex and Bobby to deal with, if need be. He'd be here if she wanted him, but he wasn't going to be the one to raise the issue.

"This has been a tough one for you."

She looked down to where her hands were clasped on her right knee and merely nodded.

"Everything okay with you and Goren?" Alex looked up at him with unexpected surprise. "You two seem a little tense." _Did you really think I wouldn't notice?_

"We're fine, Captain." _Ever loyal to her partner._ Jimmy admired that about her. He sighed. If she was going to put up a stone wall, this was going to be harder than he thought. "I have to tell you," he said gently, "Carver and I were not happy with that interview." He saw it then – the guilt and uncertainty swirling in her golden brown eyes. _This is what Goren wants to ease. This is why he's so protective of her._

"Don't get me wrong," Jimmy spoke up quickly. "It had nothing to do with how you handled the interview. But the fact that you revealed personal information to a potential suspect… that was too Goren." Alex's expression turned wary and she nervously settled herself deeper into the seat of the chair. "Did he pressure you into doing that interview with Sarah Moreno?"

"No!" Eames blurted. Jimmy watched in fascination as that one impulsive word created a havoc of emotion in her eyes. Anger… confusion… realization… acceptance. She sighed. "It was his idea, but no… he didn't pressure me."

"Are you sure? If you need me to talk with him, just say the word." Even as he made the offer, Jimmy was relieved to know that the storm seemed to have passed.

"No, captain. It's fine," she reassured him quietly. "Bobby suggested it. But I made the decision."

"Good." For the first time since she entered his office, Jimmy relaxed back into his chair. "You two have done a fine job on this case up 'til now. I'd hate to have to send you to separate corners."

And for the first time since she entered his office, Alex smiled. "That won't be necessary." As she headed toward the door, Jimmy felt the need for one more comment.

"Alex." She paused and turned to face him. "This wasn't your fault. You've heard it from Bobby and now you've heard it from me. You need to believe it yourself."

----------------------------------------

Sometimes it was hard to watch without _looking_ like you're watching. The last thing Bobby wanted to do was have his partner think he was worried about her talking to the captain. Eames was upset and he wasn't exactly sure why. He suspected she wasn't sure herself.

He knew she blamed herself for Sarah's death. He also knew she had no reason. Sarah's suicide was too well planned, too staged, for it to have been triggered by the one-hour interview with Eames. This was something the young woman had thought about for a long time. From the lavender scent to the expensive bottle of wine, the warm water and sharp razor – Sarah Moreno knew exactly what she wanted to do. If anything, Eames' interview simply made the woman accept her own culpability in her brother's murder – a blockade she was bound to hit sooner rather than later.

Eames' upset with Bobby, however, was less obvious to pinpoint. Did his attempt at reassurance unwittingly trivialize her feelings? Should he not have touched her at a time when her body literally vibrated with barely controlled tension? Did she think him responsible for forcing the out-of-character approach to an interview? Was she right?

From across the room and the corner of his eye, he saw her smile at Deakins, and Bobby released the breath he'd been holding. _Maybe it wasn't so bad after all._ He ducked his head to the paperwork on his desk when she turned to exit the captain's office. Fighting the urge to question her, he barely glanced at her when she sat across from him and instead, waited for her to say something. He was about to lose the battle when Eames finally spoke.

"I think I'll skip the cybercafé and just go down to see Zach," she said as she began gathering her file and some papers. "I'm betting he can find an anonymous way to navigate that website."

Bobby looked up at her. She seemed less tense, but he couldn't tell if he was out of the doghouse yet or not. Nodding, he quietly agreed. "Zach's good that way."

The familiar and endearing quirk to her lips told him they were going to be all right. "Are you coming? Or are you going to make me explain all this to you when I get back?"

_TBC…_

This was never supposed to be a scene in this story, but I was inspired by two things: boohoo650's review comments that Alex seemed to have simmering anger toward Bobby, and an excellent adult story I read at Freedom of Speech: Fanfiction Achive – "Silver Lining" by MinaKat. Blame them…


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – **Vengeance**

Slinkys hung from the ceiling tile grid in a wild and riotous pattern. An incessant tapping could be heard, accompanied by the rocking squeak of a chair badly in need of oil. Model cars, a Gumby doll, and all form and manner of stuffed animals sat atop cubicle walls and computer monitors.

Had to be the computer lab.

Alex sometimes thought if she hadn't made Detective, this is where she would have liked to work – techno-forensics. For one thing, at some point during the technology revolution it was determined that computer geeks should be allowed their creative and quirky outlets – hence the odd assortment of décor. And what better way to spend a day than sitting quietly in front of a computer tracking bits and bytes of information…

"Goddammit, sonofabitch! I am going to fuckin' kill Bill Gates!"

Well, maybe not.

Fortunately for her and her partner, the murderous tech was not Zach. They found him in his usual spot, apparently unfazed by – or perhaps deaf to – the high volume outburst of his frustrated co-worker. Totally engrossed in whatever held his attention, Zach seemed oblivious to Alex leaning over his cube, or her much more imposing partner standing behind him trying to glean exactly what was happening on his computer.

"Za-ach," Alex crooned. If the unexpected voice of a petite woman startled him, the realization that a large man loomed behind him scared the shit out of Zach.

"Jesus!" he cried out, eyes large and hand reflexively clutched to his chest. "Don't you two knock?"

Alex made a small fist and knocked on the top edge of his cubicle. Bobby's amused grin broadened her smile. "Checking out porn sites for Vice again?"

Zach's head swung from Alex to Bobby and back again. He actually managed to look wounded. "No," he denied. "Electronic money transfers between Geneva and the Caymans."

"He-he's right," Bobby wagged his finger at Zach's computer. "Nothing on that screen looks remotely interesting."

Leaning back, Zach turned his chair to face Bobby. "You guys actually need something, or are you just here to try and piss me off? 'Cuz, you know… when I'm pissed off, I'm a lot less likely to do favors."

"Well, Zach," Alex drew his attention, "today's your lucky day. We need a favor."

Zach turned toward her and leaned in close across his desk surface. "What's it worth to you?" he asked suggestively.

"How about an authentic Pokey doll to go with your Gumby?" Bobby asked before Alex could answer. _Is it just me, or does he sound grumpy all of a sudden?_

"You serious, man?" By the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, you'd have thought Bobby just offered Zach a vintage Mustang. "Really?" Convertible.

_So much for flirting some help out of him._

"Yeah… sure." And just like that, Bobby flipped into detective mode. Opening his binder, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Zach. "Can you get us to that website from here… anonymously?"

Zach snorted with boredom. "Is that all you want?"

"We need to be able to register at the site to access message boards and chat without them tracing us back to NYPD," Alex explained.

"Wow," Zach turned to her and, if she wasn't mistaken, his look was one of sympathy. "I never thought I'd say this, Eames, but I'm disappointed in you."

Alex straightened away from the cubicle wall, flicked her eyes anxiously to Goren, then back to Zach with annoyance. "Disappointed?"

"I would have thought you of all people would know how easily I can get around all that and remain 'civilian' in the eyes of anyone watching."

She swallowed a snarky reply along with her pride and returned to her fallback position – flirting. "Well, Zach… I'm smart enough to know that if anyone can do it, you can."

Zach's expression softened as he snatched the paper from Bobby and turned his attention to his computer. Alex looked to Bobby with a smirk. _Works every time._

"Uh, Alex…" Zach pulled her away from gloating at Bobby. "I'm getting 'The page cannot be displayed.'"

"What?"

"Here," he pointed to the screen and Alex circled around to stand beside him while Bobby leaned over his other shoulder. "The page you are looking for is currently unavailable…" Zach read aloud.

"Try… refresh," Bobby read the first option on the useless list of possible website problems.

Zach glared at him over his shoulder, but clicked the refresh icon anyway. "No go."

"I didn't have a problem this morning," Alex said while itching against the finger of concern that tried to tease her. "Could they have known that I was on an NYPD computer?"

"It's possible," Zach sounded unconvinced, "but they'd have to be monitoring their traffic all day long. It's more likely it's just a server problem."

She gave Bobby a worried glance. He shrugged, loud and clear – _'Maybe, maybe not.'_

"Let me keep trying with this," Zach said. "I'll call and let you know what happens."

This whole day was turning into a series of disasters and failures. Alex was reluctant to leave without something that looked like forward momentum. She paced a few steps, turned, and came right back to where she was standing. "Try 'refresh' again."

Zach rolled his eyes and shook his head, but obediently clicked the icon with no success.

"Eames," Bobby's voice interrupted her frustration. "Staying here is a waste of time. Let's… walk to the cybercafé… get some coffee. We can try the site from there while Zach keeps trying from here."

Sighing, Alex closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. _He's right. Why is he _always_ right?_ "Okay."

"Call my cell if you get anything," Bobby called over his shoulder as they headed out of the computer lab.

"Bring me a large mocha!" Zach yelled after them.

-----------------------------------------

"So. Where are we?"

As ordered, Alex and Bobby were in Deakins' office at the end of the day with their update – such as it was.

"Nowhere," Alex answered peevishly. "The website's been down all afternoon. Either they shut it down, or they're having server problems."

"Which do we think it is?"

"We're still hoping for server problems." Alex absently stirred the lukewarm coffee she held. At this point, she had no intentions of drinking what was left in the cup, it was just something to do with her hands. "In the meantime, Zach is playing wizard to see what else he may be able to track down."

"It would help if we could get hold of Sarah's computer," Bobby offered.

"For that," Deakins clasped his hands atop his desk, "you'll need cooperation from her parents."

"We'll… try again tomorrow," Bobby reasoned. "See if they'll talk to us."

"No you won't." With that, the captain stood up and headed toward the coffee maker on the table opposite his desk. "This is seven days straight for you two. I don't want to see your faces again until Tuesday."

"But captain…" Alex began to argue with Deakins as he stood near her filling his mug with extremely dark coffee.

"No 'buts,'" he turned to her and set the pot back on the warmer. "Give the Morenos a few days to digest all that's happened to them. If they return to North Carolina before Tuesday… well you'll just have to let me know if the Outer Banks are as nice as they used to be."

"You know," Bobby interrupted, "with Sarah gone, we need to find Lisa Hahn."

Deakins frowned. "Any leads?"

"No," Alex answered as she launched into their other fruitless pursuit of the afternoon. "It's like she dropped off the face of the earth a month ago."

"No activity on her credit cards or bank account… no phone calls, cell or otherwise," Bobby recounted some of their investigation. "Her landlord said she moved out about five weeks ago. No forwarding address."

"Do you think she's dead?" The captain sipped the dark brew while heading back toward his desk.

"That's one possibility," Bobby reflected. "Another is that she's joined up with Isaiah and they're hiding her."

"Well," Deakins settled himself in his chair and reached for the phone. "Enjoy your two days off. Sounds like you have a lot of work to do when you get back."

_TBC…_

A/N – Yeah, yeah … I know… Eames would know more about technology that this. Hell, Goren would know more than this. Please bear with me. Good, bad or indifferent, I'm determined to end this story before I leave for England on Friday. The last chapter may only be, "And they lived happily ever after. The End." (Or, to keep Confused happy, maybe it will be, "He kissed her and they lived happily ever after. The End." :-) And, yes… I made up the word 'techno-forensics.' Sue me.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N – A HUGE "Thank You" to raz0r.girl (and everyone else who responded to my cry for help) for her input on the techno-speak part of this chapter. I probably didn't interpret it quite right, and hope it at least makes some sense.

Chapter 25 – **Vengeance**

Bobby heard Eames' loud yawn and looked across the desks to see her leaning back in her chair, arms above her head as she stretched taut muscles and stiff spine. Eyes closed, she tipped forward and brought her hands down to grip her shoulders, slowly rocking her head from side to side to work out the kinks in her neck.

"Hinting for a massage there, Eames?"

She opened her eyes and tried to give him a hostile glare, but all Bobby saw was frustration and fatigue. _This has been a long three weeks for her,_ he worried.

He opened his mouth with the intent of expressing his concern when a folded newspaper landed squarely in front of him on the desk. Bobby looked first to the source and saw the captain, then turned to the headline staring back at him. 'Central Park Executioner Continues to Evade NYPD'

_Shit!_

"It's been three weeks since the first death, two weeks since Sarah Moreno's suicide, and one week since you got back here with her computer," Deakins rattled off the timeline. "Where are we on this?"

"Uh… not where we'd like to be," Bobby tipped his chair back and regarded the captain sitting on the edge of his desk, wondering what prompted this visit. "For starters, we haven't been able to access the Isaiah website."

"The lab's been all over Sarah's computer," Eames began to explain. "They can see that she logged on to the site at random times, but never for more than one hour. The server's been inaccessible since the day of her death."

"So, they either got nervous and closed up shop, or the Moreno girl tipped them off."

"Not necessarily," Bobby disagreed. "There are other possibilities."

"Zach has an interesting theory," Eames stepped in. "There are ways to maintain anonymity on the internet. One way is with something called TorPark. It's a portable…" she struggled for a term, "'net anonymizer.' Loaded on a USB flash card, you pop the card into a flash drive on any public computer. Basically, you wind up with an anonymous, portable browser you can use at any library or cybercafé. Unplug the flash card and you take the host site with you."

Deakins closed his eyes and scrubbed at the back of his neck. "Whatever happened to the days when you could track someone by a broken key on a typewriter?" he grumbled. "Look," he refocused on Eames, "if that anonymous thing is true, why has the site been down for two weeks?"

"It may not be totally down," Bobby said. "It's likely they have, um… set days and times when the server is up and running. People who know and use the site… know when to log on. So far, we haven't been lucky enough to hit at the right time."

Eames sighed and Deakins mumbled something unintelligible before stepping away from Bobby's desk for some room to pace.

"My guess is… they've disappeared into the ether." The captain faced him and Bobby decided to lay it all out for him. "They'll continue killing… it's their mission. But they'll be less flashy, at least for a while. They won't want to draw attention to themselves."

"I'm supposed to tell the brass that there will be more murders and we have nothing to go on?" Deakins asked. Bobby had no response. "What about Lisa Hahn?"

"Still nothing," Eames replied. "We haven't been able to find a trace of her. Her family, landlord, employer – no one has heard from her for two months, and they have no idea how to find her. Her family filed a missing persons report with the Scranton PD."

"Ether again?" Deakins scoffed. Eames shrugged and Bobby saw the captain's irritation relent. "All right. Given the lack of progress or any solid leads right now, this one needs to go on the back burner."

"But, sir…" Eames started to protest.

"Alex," he interrupted. "I know you have a lot invested in this case and I promise you we're not burying it. But this new one's important and has some solid leads. We need to put our energies where we can do some good."

Eames shook her head and turned her attention to an apparently interesting coffee stain on her desk blotter. Bobby knew that she was biting back on a sharp retort and swallowing her disappointment. By the time she looked back at the captain, her eyes revealed her annoyance, but she was ready to listen.

Deakins gave her a small smile of appreciation. "A couple out walking their dog this morning, came across the body of a young woman," he handed Eames one page that summarized the initial report. "Turns out she was a stripper at one of the Masucci's clubs. Her body's still at the Park, waiting for us before they move her. If this is a mob thing, I want you two on it."

Bobby reached for his binder and stood up. He couldn't say he was happy about the reason, but he was more than ready to get away from his desk and the squad room. They'd both arrived around five o'clock that morning and were in need of a break and some air.

"Report back to me," Deakins said to Bobby then turned away and headed to his office.

Eames remained seated at her desk and although she continued to stare at the paper she held in her hands, Bobby suspected that wasn't really what she was seeing before her. "Eames." He didn't need to say anything more. That one word was full of his concern.

She looked at him and gave him a soft smile of reassurance. "He's right. We're frustrated because this is going nowhere. Let's go see if we can rattle some Masucci cages."

The corner of his mouth quirked in admiration. _Resilient. That's just one of the things I lo-… like about her. _

While Eames was shrugging into her jacket, Bobby saw Rob Snyder approaching them. Snyder gave him a wary nod of greeting and then turned his attention to Eames.

"Alex."

"Oh, hey Rob."

"Six o'clock still good for you?"

Bobby caught himself before his jaw dropped. Eames gave him a warning glance then smiled back at Snyder. "Let's say seven. And I'll meet you there."

"Great!" The pest was one big grin of excitement. "I'm looking forward to it."

They managed to make it onto the elevator before Bobby couldn't contain it any longer. "Rob Snyder?"

"What about him?"

"You're… dating him."

"I'm meeting him for dinner."

Bobby considered this for a few seconds, wondering if she really thought that non-committal responses were going to shake him off. "That's a date."

"You and I go to dinner all the time," she countered. "Do you call those dates?"

Now she was just being argumentative. "It's not the same and you know it." Bobby hoped his irritation wasn't bleeding through into his words. "It's about expectations. To Snyder, it's a date."

"Fine," Eames shrugged. "It's a date."

The elevator chimed and the doors opened as they arrived at the ground floor parking garage. Eames stepped off before him and he trailed closely behind her. "Why do you want to give him false hope?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder but kept moving toward the SUV. "I don't know that it's false hope. Do you?" He heard the alarm chirp and the doors unlock. Eames walked around to the driver's side while Bobby tried to think of an appropriate response.

"Look," she slipped the key in the ignition and turned to face him sitting in the passenger seat. "It's like I said. When it comes to men, maybe I've been letting the right ones go."

"C'mon… he's not at all _'right'_ for you," Goren argued as they began backing out of the parking space. "You need someone who's at least as… as interesting as you. A man who… who's as… strong in his beliefs. A man who will challenge your mind," and now that he was on the topic, he couldn't seem to stop himself. "You need someone who attracts you… mentally as well as physically. Someone who'll treat you right and appreciate everything about you…"

The SUV lurched to an abrupt stop. Bobby's seat belt jerked tight across his chest and he reflexively reached out a hand for the dashboard. Eames threw the gear shifter into Park and rounded on him.

"You have someone particular in mind, Goren?" she demanded. Even in the gloom of the garage, Bobby could see her eyes flashing with anger. He'd gotten carried away in the moment and said things that touched too close to his personal feelings on the topic of one Alexandra Eames. Given his almost-revelation of a few weeks ago, she had every right to question his assessment of her needs.

They sat there as Alex's challenge melted between them. Bobby swallowed nervously and decided his best course of action here would be to keep his mouth shut. As the silence grew louder, her expressive eyes revealed the slide from anger to hope to disappointment.

"I didn't think so," she acknowledged softly. Turning away from him, she put the car in gear and focused on the task of driving. Bobby felt an important moment dissolve into contrary emotions for him. Relief that she'd given up so easily. Regret that he'd let her.

She pulled out into the New York traffic and they rode for several blocks before she finally spoke into the tension. "Speaking of 'false hope.' Did you talk to Denise yet?"

_Sonofabitch! _He hated arguing with her. Eames could cut to the quick more easily than anyone he'd ever known.

No, he hadn't had 'that talk' with Denise yet. He could argue that the time never seemed right, but more than that, Denise herself seemed to be backing away from expecting more of their relationship. Bobby hated to admit it but, for now, if Denise was comfortable with the way things were, he didn't want to upset the status quo. He enjoyed her company, she suddenly seemed content with whatever time they could spend together, and the sex was more than satisfying.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Look… you're right." _Time to end this. She's got her personal life, you've got yours. Obviously it's not a good idea to try and delve too deeply on either side._ "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

They stopped at a traffic light. A few heartbeats later, Eames faced him. Her eyes were soft and forgiving. She took a breath, halted, then finally spoke. "Thank you for caring enough to make it your business." Eames smiled and waited for him to do the same.

"It's just one date."

_End_

A/N – Now on to the episode 'Want' and my story 'Indefensible.' I've known since about half way through that I would leave this open for a sequel. I know exactly where in my (elfluvr's) series the next installment will fit and already have character ideas. So in the coming weeks (months?), watch for 'Lex Talionis' (Law of Retaliation).

It may take a while because, in the shadow of such wonderfully descriptive fanfic authors as Scripted Starlet and pagination, my writing feels thin right now. Or maybe it's always been that way. Whatever the case, I plan to take a break, with maybe an occasional one-shot or drabble here and there as practice.

Y'all have been absolutely fantastic readers!! I can never thank you enough for all the kind words, encouragement and feedback – it feeds the soul! E.Helena


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